ACT 29: The Nine Muses of Death
by Galaxy1001D
Summary: The leaders of Paradigm are being murdered. As Colonel Dan Dastun and R Fredrick O'Reilly hunt the killer, Roger Smith discovers the identity of the murderer, and the identity of the murderer's next victim... THE BIG O: SEASON THREE
1. Clio

_The Big O and all of its settings and characters are owned by Cartoon Network, Sunrise, and Bandai Visual._

_Opening theme song by _Rui Nagai

THE BIG O:

ACT 29

THE NINE MUSES OF DEATH!

_Big-O!_

_Big-O! Big-O! Big-O!_

_Big-O!_

_Big-O! Big-O! Big-O!_

_Cast in the name of God!_

**Negotiator**

_Ye not the guilty!_

**Android**

_We have come to terms!_

**Butler**

_Big-O!_

**Officer**

_Big-O!_

_Big-O! Big-O! Big-O!_

_Big-O!_

_Big-O! Big-O! -O! -O! Big-O!_

_Chapter One:_ _Clio_

"It's started," Colonel Dastun, temporary head of the Military Police, muttered as he surveyed the crime scene in front of him. The massive private library of Arnold Gasset was a wreck. The huge bookshelves had toppled domino-like onto each other, trapping the middle-aged Paradigm executive underneath.

"The victim was Phil Gasset, the head of Paradigm Press," Lieutenant Johnson informed him. "The lab boys found footprints on the top of the bookcases. It looks like somebody jumped from bookcase to bookcase."

"Did that cause the bookcases to fall?" Dastun asked.

"No, it looks like the perpetrator jumped up on top of the bookcases afterward," Johnson replied. "Eads thinks that the perpetrator jumped up and down on the bookcase squashing Gasset flat just to make sure."

"Sounds like it was personal," Dastun grunted, but like the mystery of forty years ago, there was no way to be sure. It could have been personal, but it still could have been a professional hit. The question was, was it a singular incident or the first of many?

"Colonel, over here," Eads, the crime lab technician called.

Dastun shuffled over to him and looked down at the body. "What have you got?"

Eads, who had been photographing the body and the area around it, held up a scroll in his latex gloved hand. "We found this next to the body, sir."

"Let me see it," Dastun was wearing gloves himself, so he didn't hesitate to take the yellow scroll and unroll it. Inside was the picture of a Greek theatre mask surrounded by a wreath of laurels. Half of the mask was smiling, the other half frowning. A mask depicting both comedy and tragedy. Underneath was inscribed the word 'Clio'.

* * *

Three days later…

_My name is Roger Smith; I perform a necessary job here in the city of Amnesia_. _Over_ _forty years ago, the entire city lost its memory, but humans are adaptable creatures. If they can remember how to harness electricity, then they can make some kind of civilization._

The long black sedan known as the Griffin threaded its way through the damaged and twisted streets of Paradigm City. Paradigm City had always been rundown, but after the onslaught it had suffered two months ago the city was an absolute wreck. With every dome in the city damaged the buildings inside the domes didn't look much better than the ones outside the domes. Roger allowed himself to smile in satisfaction. Now the rich knew how the poor lived. Everyone was equal, at least for a little while.

"Roger, where are we going?" the pale redheaded girl asked from the passenger seat.

"I told you, I'm going to see a client," the broad shouldered young man smiled mischievously. "I told you that this morning."

"A client that asked you to wear a tuxedo, and asked me to wear an evening gown?" the girl asked skeptically.

"My client can't stand the color black," the handsome raven-haired Roger Smith replied smugly. "What do you care? I thought you hated black."

"Black _is_ rather monotonous," the girl replied. She was so slender and petite that she looked like a child compared to the husky and long limbed form of Roger Smith. "I notice that _you_ are wearing black, though."

"Tuxedoes are traditionally black," Roger shrugged triumphantly. "It's not my fault that people without memories are still slaves to tradition. How do you like the dress I bought for you, Dorothy? I didn't know whether it should be red or green, so I had to guess."

"Green is fine, Roger," Dorothy assured him. Her dress was a rich glossy green as were the opera gloves that covered her slender, alabaster arms. Even the barrette placed over her auburn bangs was green. Even the white corsage that shyly concealed her décolletage had greenery in it. Contrasted with her red hair, she resembled a glamorous Heaven's Day elf.

"Anyhow, why so curious?" Roger asked, making conversation. He knew darn well why she was curious, but enjoyed the banter and asked her anyway.

"It is just that this is not the sort of neighborhood that requires formal wear," Dorothy replied. "As a matter of fact this area is quite barren." Her head jerked as her body tensed. "Are we turning into the abandoned airport?"

"Why yes we are, but I assure you, this isn't a kidnapping case," he smiled.

The long black car pulled into an empty hanger whose damaged roof let in beams of sunlight. "All right, we're here," he grinned as he got out of the car and shut the door. "Come on Dorothy, we don't want to be late."

"I don't see how we can be late, for there is no one here," she said as she got out and followed him to the center of the hanger. "This is where you exchanged the ransom money for my freedom," she said as she gazed at the broken wall at the end of the hanger. "This is the place where we first met."

"Why yes it is," He said with uncharacteristic affection.

Dorothy looked around. Although her face held no expression it was obvious that she was confused. Finally she made a quiet announcement. "Nobody is going to show up. You do not have a client to meet."

"That's not true," Roger grinned as mischief entered his voice again. "A year ago, you were my client, weren't you?"

"That is true but I still don't understand," she flatly protested. "Why get all dressed up? Why am I not wearing black? My living conditions haven't changed have they?"

Roger let out an embarrassed laugh. "I'm sorry Dorothy, I had no idea you'd jump to that conclusion," he said ruefully. He glanced at his watch. "Five, four, three, two, one. There it is. Exactly one year ago, we first met." When Dorothy didn't react, he added. "You know how I feel about memories. The best way to keep them buried is to make new ones. Rather than being slaves to forgotten traditions, we should go out and make our own traditions."

"But why are we here?" she asked stubbornly.

"Because I think the anniversary of the day we met is something worth celebrating," he replied. "Honestly Dorothy, I shudder to think what would have happened to us if we hadn't met. You offer your service, your counsel, and your friendship without complaint and all I ever do is complain and make fun of you. I think today of all days is a good time to thank you." He turned and gallantly opened the passenger door to the griffin.

"You're welcome Roger," Dorothy nodded as she reentered the car. "You have repeatedly saved my life, and you have taken me into your home. I think that is worth taking a few insults. Perhaps it is I who should be thanking you."

"You're welcome Dorothy," Roger smiled. "You're always welcome, even if I don't always act like it." He walked over to the driver's side and got in. "Let's see if my calculations for the road conditions are accurate and we'll see if we can get across town in time for our reservations," he said as he started the car and backed out of the hanger. "I managed to get us to the airport on time, maybe we'll get to Rosterman's in time for dinner."

"Roger, you know that I don't taste things like you do," she pointed out.

"That never stopped you from sharing meals with me before," he assured her as he refused to surrender his cheerful attitude. "It doesn't matter if you _are_ an android, Dorothy. You deserve to go someplace nice. Didn't you tell me once that you can discern temperature and texture?"

"Yes I did," she replied, a hint of satisfaction creeping into her voice. "Thank you for noticing."

"I'm not completely heartless, Dorothy," he assured her as they drove back to the clogged streets of Paradigm City, "but I am going to teach you that sometimes it pays to wear black."

* * *

The long black sedan navigated its way through the damaged streets past numerous construction crews until it found its way to Cypress Hill Cemetery. "Here we are," Roger said has he parked the car. "The second stop on our tour. I wouldn't be serving the client if we didn't stop here." The tall young man put on a pair of sunglasses as he left the car and proceeded to the back and opened the trunk.

The girl was silent as she gazed across the parking lot. They weren't alone. Armored limousines, some with the Paradigm logo were parked here as well. Even a few military police vehicles were here. It looked as if the Paradigm executives were burying one of their own.

Roger idly wondered if the purge had started. Since the death of Alex Rosewater, he had been expecting a bloody power struggle to explode within the Paradigm Corporation. Could this service be honoring one of the losers of the hidden conflict?

He didn't let his curiosity show, however. With quick fluid motions he opened the trunk, pulled out some articles of clothing and closed it again. "Here you go, Dorothy," he said as he offered her a black cloak and hat. "The hat has a veil, for privacy while you mourn."

"You know that isn't necessary, Roger," she softly teased as she turned her back to allow him to place the cloak on her shoulders.

Did he ever. As an android, Dorothy's body didn't react to her emotions the way a human body would. Her eyes didn't tear up when she was sad. Her lips didn't involuntarily curl in a smile when she was happy. She didn't blush when she was embarrassed and her face didn't contort into a frown when she was angry. For a human, the body not only reacted to feelings, but often enhanced and reinforced them as well.

For Dorothy, that wasn't the case. Her emotions were muted by a metal and plastiflesh body that allowed her complete control over how much she would reveal about herself. The advantages were numerous. She would always be able to think clearly, without worrying about her emotions running away with her at a critical time. She would have the perfect poker face, for the emotional stimulus required to illicit a visible response out of her would have to be so intense it would be unbearable for a human.

But her emotions would lack depth, wouldn't they? Her feelings would always be muted. Could she really feel happiness, or merely contentment? Could she truly feel anger, or merely irritation? And could she understand the more subtle emotions like gratitude, friendship, or loneliness, or would she not even be able to feel them? Did she truly feel love?

Watching Dorothy adjust her hat, he found it hard to believe that Dorothy couldn't feel love. Back at the airport, when he was thanking the android for her service, counsel, and friendship, he nearly choked on his words to avoid adding 'love' to the list. But could she feel love the way humans do? Did Dorothy have romantic feelings for him that her android body muted into a girlish crush or did the dearth of distracting emotions allow her to focus on one feeling in particular? Would that be the only way to give an android's emotion depth?

More importantly, where did Roger's feelings lie? Lie, he decided, was an appropriate word, for he certainly wasn't ready for them to reveal the truth. Was Angel right? Was he truly in love with this android? Why? Wasn't Angel good enough?

Just before the events that started what the newspapers called the 'War of Paradigm City', he and the blonde bombshell had shared a dinner and quiet moment on the seashore. Just before they kissed, he hesitated. Why? It was obvious that deep down, Angel was really a good person, and her face and body were more than good. Exquisite perhaps. So why didn't he kiss her when he had the chance?

Did he feel some sort of obligation to Dorothy? Ridiculous! They had never had that kind of relationship or even hinted at that kind of relationship! How could he find Dorothy more attractive than Angel? Was he really such a control freak that he needed someone who was reliable, dependable, predictable, and other words ending in 'able'?

In a city without memories, there isn't a lot of guidance to tell a man what path he should take. Roger had reacted by becoming a private person and living his life by a system of rules. And here was Dorothy, a woman literally of mechanical precision. He could count on her to follow a routine like clockwork. When her emotions troubled her she would express them so quietly and subtly that it was easy to believe that she didn't have feelings at all. She was neat and orderly, quiet and well-behaved, yet she disrupted his orderly life just enough to let him know that she was as spirited as the unpredictable woman who called herself 'Angel'.

Was he so obsessive-compulsive that a human woman wasn't good enough? What did that say about Roger Smith? If a lady wasn't perfectly logical and quiet, did that mean that she was 'out of here'? Did he need someone subservient and predictable to get him to lower his guard?

And how old was Dorothy anyway? She looked like a sixteen-year-old girl but was she really that old? She could be only a year old for all he knew, or she could have been active since the Event that devastated the world and robbed Paradigm City of its memories. He really should have investigated Timothy Wayneright's past before the old scientist's house was cleared out either the Union or Paradigm's agents. The old man who built Dorothy had taken his secrets to his grave.

Therefore, it was no surprise that the grave of Timothy Wayneright, the creator and father of R Dorothy Wayneright, was the grave that they had come to visit. He wasn't sure if she understood, but anyone who could create a marvel like Dorothy deserved to be honored.

As Dorothy approached her father's grave, Roger couldn't help but glance in the direction of the resting place of his own parents. Did his biological parents ever really exist? If he dug up their coffins, would he find anything, or would their graves be empty? Did he ever have parents, or did he have more in common with R Dorothy than he wanted to admit?

Dorothy stopped at her father's grave and stood as rigid as a soldier on inspection. Did she know what she was supposed to do next?

"Here," Roger handed her a small bouquet of flowers.

"Thank you Roger, they're lovely," she said mechanically, but then she always spoke in a slight monotone.

"You place them on the grave," he smirked. "You honor the deceased by decorating his memorial, and it symbolizes life after death."

"Thank you Roger," she repeated, coldly this time. Cold even for her. "I know what to do with them."

Roger allowed himself a smile as Dorothy turned to place the flowers on the tombstone. Did she really know what to do with them, or was she just trying to cover up her ignorance? He tried to hide his grin. Smiles and laughter in a cemetery just weren't appropriate.

Apparently someone disagreed because somebody was laughing. A maniacal unhealthy laugh broke the silence and raised the hair on the back of Roger's neck.

* * *

On a desk filled with hourglasses a phone rings. Norman's hand picks up the receiver and a sinister voice says:

_Next: Thalia _


	2. Thalia

_The Big O and all of its settings and characters are owned by Cartoon Network, Sunrise, and Bandai Visual._

_Opening theme song by _Rui Nagai

THE BIG O:

ACT 29

THE NINE MUSES OF DEATH!

_Chapter Two:_ _Thalia _

Roger and Dorothy looked over to a group of well-dressed people flocked around an open grave. They were middle-aged and older to a man, except for the young military police officers who were at a respectful distance.

One of the mourners was laughing uncontrollably despite his wife's attempts to shush him. Unable to catch his breath, the man staggered forward while giggling like a maniac. Gasping on his painful guffaws, he lost his footing and fell atop the coffin. Unbalanced by his weight, the casket tumbled prematurely into the open grave… taking the laughing man with it. The crowd gasped as his choking cackles emanated up from the macabre pit.

"What the devil?" Roger found himself running over to the crowd, heedless of the bodyguards who were rushing to intercept him. He burst through the crowd to stand at the edge of the grave to see the portly gray-haired man coughing up blood as he still laughed and tittered insanely.

The two military policemen who seized Roger's arms were frozen as they looked down at the ghoulish sight. Before their horrified eyes, the man gasped and heaved before finally collapsing like a marionette whose strings were cut.

"Let go of him you idiots," Colonel Dastun's rough growl ordered as he stepped out of the crowd of onlookers. "Get down there and give Fraiser Owens some medical attention!"

The two policemen released Roger Smith, but hesitated before climbing down into the grave. "I think it's too late for medical attention, Dastun," Roger said grimly. The frozen, unnatural smile on Fraiser Owens' face left little doubt of that.

"I had a feeling it would be that way," Dastun sighed before he burst into action. "Okay, the show's over! Evacuate the mourners and get their statements! Take them to the medical center so they can get checked out before another one starts laughing, and then get their statements! No, forget that! I'm going to take their statements myself! Just make a list of everybody here and make sure they get home safely. Leave a man to guard each house. Now go! Go! Go! Get moving already!"

"You got everybody jumping," Roger allowed himself an ironic smile as military policemen escorted the stunned mourners to their vehicles.

"Go ahead and laugh, wiseguy," Dastun growled. "You might die laughing."

"I'm not laughing," Roger assured him as the two military policemen who had seized him brought up Fraiser Owens. Correction: the late Fraiser Owens. There was no doubt about that now. "Fraiser Owens… He's one of the Paradigm Executives isn't he?"

"Yeah, he's in charge of all the recycling in town," Dastun told him. "At least he was," he corrected himself.

"You don't seem very surprised, Dan," the black clad negotiator observed.

"Phil Gasset was murdered," Dastun explained. "This is _his _funeral. Somebody used his rare book collection to squash him flat. I had a feeling he'd be the first."

"Phil Gasset, the publisher?" Roger asked. "Wasn't he in charge of Paradigm Press?"

"The same," the burly cop sighed.

"Looks like it's started," Roger muttered.

"Looks like," Dastun agreed. "We haven't had a good track record on catching assassins in the past…"

"But that's going to change right?" Roger winked.

"It better," Dastun snarled. "I'd be lying if I didn't think _my _name was on the list."

Since the death of Alex Rosewater and the stillbirth of the 'New Order' he had attempted to impose on Paradigm City, a vacuum had been left in the halls of power. Before his death, Alex had manipulated the rebellious organization known as the Union into eliminating his father's old supporters so he could install his own followers. Now with their leader dead and Paradigm City in ruins, the followers of the 'New Order' were scrambling to protect themselves from the citizens' retribution. They didn't trust themselves or each other, and anyone who had the slightest bit of true leadership ability was considered a threat.

Therefore, it was with the greatest sense of irony that they had installed Colonel Dan Dastun was temporary head of the military police.

When Paradigm City's official protectors had been ordered to stand down during Alex Rosewater's attack on the city, Dan Dastun had defied orders by leading an attack on Big Fau, Rosewater's giant white megadeus that had brought Paradigm City to it's knees.

No one really knew much about the megadeuses. Incredibly massive armored robots, they had so much firepower, they had been nicknamed 'the power of God wielded by man'. Although Paradigm City had seen more than its share of giant robots since the events four decades ago that destroyed the world and robbed the survivors of their memories, the most powerful and versatile had to be the true megadeuses, the Bigs.

So far there had been three Bigs that Paradigm City could remember. Big O, the black megadeus, had protected the city from gargantuan threats while piloted by the professional negotiator known as Roger Smith. Big Duo, the red megadeus, could actually fly by transforming itself into a kind of bomber plane. It had been piloted by the Union's treacherous and homicidally insane cyborg, Alan Gabriel, and before that by Swartzwald, a reporter known as Michael Seebach before falling to madness in his quest for the truth of what happened to the world before. Big Fau, the white megadeus, had been piloted by the Paradigm chairman Alex Rosewater when he tried to destroy the city to remake it in his image.

It was a classic example of foolish pride and insatiable greed. Through economic coercion, the Paradigm Corporation ruled the last remaining metropolis in the world, in effect becoming both god and state. Even the senators of the city were Paradigm board members or former executives. Even the military police received its funding from the Paradigm Corporation.

But it hadn't been enough for Alex Rosewater. Tired of living in the shadow of his father, Gordon Rosewater, the founder of Paradigm City and the Paradigm Corporation, Alex had decided to destroy the capitalistic dystopia that his father created and replace it with a world of his own creation.

Dastun was the highest-ranking member of the military police who defied orders and fired upon the white megadeus anyway. Two companies of young and idealistic military policemen followed him, and all were relieved of duty afterwards. Dastun himself was arrested for insubordination.

That was before the riots began. When the people of Paradigm City rose up against the all powerful corporation, the surviving board members did an about face and reinstated Dastun and all of his men. They knew their only hope avoid a full scale revolution was to claim that Rosewater acted on his own and to legitimize the actions of Colonel Dastun.

On paper, things looked good for the grizzled cop. He was the highest-ranking member of the military police who had no ties to Rosewater and his 'New Order'. In order to placate the populace, the Paradigm Corporation made Dastun a hero and removed the heads of the military police. Dan was the highest-ranking military police officer left and he was temporarily in charge of all of the city's military and law enforcement personnel. Unfortunately, there was always the fear that the Paradigm Corporation would see him as a threat to their power and have him eliminated. It was ironic, but Dastun was in charge of protecting the very people who might be planning to have him killed.

Now a second Paradigm executive had been murdered. It would be naïve not to make a connection between the deaths of Gasset and Owens. The struggle for power inside the halls of the Paradigm Corporation had turned deadly, but were the casualties allies or on opposing sides? Was he looking for one group of murderers or two?

In any case, it was time Dastun started debriefing the witnesses, starting with the one witness that didn't belong: Roger Smith. "What are you doing here?" the mustached cop growled. "Do you just go around looking for trouble or what?"

"Of course not, nothing of the kind," Roger purred, slipping into his reasonable 'negotiator' voice. "Dorothy and I came here to pay respects to her father," he added as he gestured to a nearby grave. "I had no idea that Phil Gasset's funeral was today until we got here."

Dastun glanced over and saw a short slim form wearing a black cape and a wide brimmed hat with a veil. Dorothy Wayneright was as still as a statue, only the wind blowing on her clothing made it clear that she was really there and not a photograph. Dastun shivered. She was a nice girl and all, but sometimes she seemed like the walking dead. "Did you see anything?"

"Only the same thing you saw," Roger shrugged. "At this stage, you know more than I do."

"What does this word mean to you, 'Clio'?" Colonel Dastun asked.

"'Clio'?" Roger repeated. "Why nothing. Nothing at all. It could be a name, or it could be a word in some foreign language. Are you sure you apprehended all those Union people?"

"I dunno," Dastun shrugged. "Maybe."

"Why did you ask?" Roger prompted.

"We found a document near Gasset's body," Dastun explained. "A scroll actually. It had a picture of some kind of mask and the word, 'Clio'. Capitalized, like it was a name."

"You think it could be the name of some megadeus?" Roger asked.

"Please, Roger, don't even joke about that!" Dastun shuddered.

"Colonel!" Lieutenant Johnson called. "We've intercepted someone trying to get into the Gasset funeral!"

"Let's talk to 'em," Dastun growled as he and Roger approached.

A young man was surrounded by military police and almost hiding behind a large standing wreath of flowers. "Look, I just work for the flower service!" he explained. "It ain't against the law to deliver flowers to a funeral, is it?"

"No, I guess it isn't," Dastun sighed before he issued an order to the rookies surrounding the deliveryman. "Take his name and contact the flower shop just in case, but I don't think this has anything to do with the murder."

"Don't be too sure about that, Dastun!" Roger exclaimed. "Look!"

Attached to the wreath was a large Comedy mask used in ancient Greek theatre. Below it a banner proudly read, 'Thalia'.

"Since when is a Comedy mask delivered to a funeral?" Roger asked.

"I don't know Roger," Dastun replied, "but you can bet money I'm going to find out!"

"What is going on, Roger?" Dorothy asked him when he returned to the grave of Timothy Wayneright. She turned her head to look at the wheeled stretcher taking away the body of the late Fraiser Owens.

"It's not our problem, Dorothy, it's Dastun's," Roger snapped as he maneuvered his body to block her view of the stretcher party. To best of his recollection, this was third time she was forced to watch someone get murdered right before her eyes. The first time it was her own father. The second time it was Roscoe Fitzgerald, an android who appeared perfectly human to the naked eye. Now Fraiser Owens. He could only hope that the crowd of people had shielded her from having to see yet a third homicide in one year. "I hope you had time to make peace with your father." He was curt as he ushered her back to the parking lot. "If we hurry, we can still make our reservation at Rosterman's."

"Roger, did somebody die?" the android asked as she folded her cloak and place it in the trunk of Roger's car.

"Of course, Dorothy," he joked grimly as he removed her hat and placed it in the trunk. "That's why there was a funeral." He closed the trunk with a loud 'thunk' and marched to the driver's door.

"No, I mean did somebody die at the funeral?" she clarified when she got into the passenger seat and shut her door.

"Why yes, Dorothy, I'm afraid so," he said as he started the car. There was still a chance they could escape the parking lot before they were detained by the military police. Although Dastun gave them verbal permission to leave the area he doubted that the word had been passed down to every cop canvassing the area.

"What caused it?" she asked as the Griffin lunged forward.

"Heart attack," he lied as he nearly ran over a military police man who was waving at him to stop.

"You are not a very good liar, Roger Smith," she scolded.

"Sure I am, just not with you," he muttered. He was irked that the murder had happened today of all days, right in front of Dorothy. He wanted this to be a special day. He was also miffed that his 'sometimes it pays to wear black', lesson was completely overshadowed by the grisly event at the graveyard. And somewhere in the back of his mind, he was worried.

It was true that the Paradigm executives had been a part of Alex Rosewater's 'New Order'. They had to be. The old guard had been eliminated. So who cares if they start bumping each other off to see who becomes top dog?

The problem was that the winner of such a power struggle would be the most ambitious, clever, and ruthless one left. Such a man would be dangerous, and no doubt determined to make his mark on the city the same way Alex Rosewater tried to. In the meantime, the chaos caused by the silent war was exactly what the city didn't need right now. The mess rolls downhill, and by the time it gets to the little guy it becomes an avalanche. He had ignored a conspiracy like this in the past and it had cost the city big time. Could Paradigm City survive if he ignored this one?

"Roger…" Dorothy's voice brought him out of his thoughts.

"I'm sorry, Dorothy," the dapper negotiator shrugged. "I guess I'm upset that incident in the cemetery overshadowed our special day. You know in the future we could celebrate they day we met by having you wear any color you want. The next day we could visit Timothy Wayneright's grave and you can go back to wearing black. It could be our yearly ritual. You deserve _one_ day out of the year to wear anything you want to."

"How kind Roger." Despite her level monotone, her cold sarcasm was evident. "You offer me _one_ day out of the year that I don't have to wear black. You're a louse, Roger Smith, and your sense of fashion stinks."

"Hey rules are rules, Dorothy," Roger protested good-naturedly. "I'm trying to compromise here. I don't think I deserve to be called a louse just because I'm trying to be nice."

"It has been one year since I first called you a louse," Dorothy explained before she turned her head to face Roger. "And it has been one year since I first pointed out your terrible taste in clothing. It can be our yearly ritual," she dryly teased. Was it his imagination or was she almost smiling?

* * *

After threading their way through construction, clogged streets and back roads they finally made it to Rosterman's, one of the most expensive restaurants left in Paradigm City. The dome that once provided an artificial sunny sky was cracked open, letting real sunlight trickle in for a change.

Roger didn't like handing the keys to the Griffon to the parking attendant, but put on a brave face for Dorothy's benefit. That car was worth a fortune, and had enough gadgets and weaponry installed in it to arm a battalion. Then there was the security issue. What if someone decided to sabotage his car? Plant a listening or tracking device? Put a bomb in it? And of course, there was always the simple fact that Roger felt possessive and didn't want anybody beside himself driving his car.

As the parking attendant disappeared with his car, Roger gallantly offered his arm to Dorothy Wayneright. She looked simply darling in her glossy green dress and opera gloves that perfectly matched the barrette placed over her auburn bangs. Even the white corsage that shyly concealed her décolletage had greenery in it. Roger had to admit that he looked good in a tuxedo, even though it really wasn't that different than his normal attire of black slacks, white shirt, black tie, and black polo jacket.

As he escorted her inside, Roger couldn't help but see throngs of Paradigm City's less fortunate milling about. These days the poor crowded the streets along with the rich and respectable, even inside the domes. How many of them used to be part of the rich and respectable before Big Fau's attack on the city? How many had been left homeless after Rosewater's attempt to destroy the city his father had built? How many used to live inside the domes away from the riffraff and recently had been forced to join the very poor they used to hide from?

Roger shook his head as he walked inside. Despite the death, decay and destruction that haunted Paradigm City like an unshakable specter, he was determined to make the anniversary of his and Dorothy's meeting both memorable and enjoyable for the beautiful android.

That was why he didn't notice a shadowy figure in a tattered trench coat separate himself from the crowd to glower at the back of the dapper young negotiator and his lovely mechanical companion. He didn't see the man shake his fist and spit in their general direction and whisper. "That's right, Negotiator, enjoy yourself while you can!"

* * *

On a desk filled with hourglasses a phone rings. Norman's hand picks up the receiver and a sinister voice says:

_Next: Euterpe_


	3. Euterpe

_The Big O and all of its settings and characters are owned by Cartoon Network, Sunrise, and Bandai Visual._

Additional material by Douglas Adams

THE BIG O:

ACT 29

THE NINE MUSES OF DEATH!

_Chapter Three:_ _Euterpe_

Roger and Dorothy were seated almost instantly. A waiter offered them a wine list and then left to allow them to peruse the menu. Despite the rationing and shortages the city was suffering from, Rosterman's still managed to have a good selection. Roger suspected the restaurant was dealing with the black market, but that was Dastun's problem, not his.

"Order anything you like Dorothy," Roger offered. "The sky's the limit."

"Thank you Roger," the android glanced around at the other diners in their formal wear. "The gesture is appreciated, although I do not understand the appeal of dining out when Norman can serve you in the safety and comfort of your own house. Nearly all the other diners are probably rich enough to have their own chef at home."

Roger tried to hide a laugh—Dorothy was starting to think like he did. He cleared his throat and said, "Sometimes it's nice to do something different. Every once and a while it is nice to dress up, go someplace fancy, and try something you haven't eaten before. Besides, I don't want you to get the impression I'm ashamed of you or anything. This gives me a chance to show you off."

"Father did the same thing," Dorothy nodded. "He took me out to see the town, and to let the town see me. I found it odd, since he was so overprotective and he was such a misanthrope like you, Roger."

"Hey, it's not my fault I'm a private person," Roger shrugged. "What do you have against people who like their privacy? You just called your own father a misanthrope, after all. R Dorothy Wayneright I should think that you of all people would be accustomed to someone who doesn't have to mingle," he gently taunted.

"Being a misanthrope is natural for a decrepit old man who regained enough of his memories to remember that he lost his family," Dorothy pointed out. "I simply think that it is strange for a handsome young man who makes his living off his social skills to shut everyone out."

"You think I'm _handsome_?" Roger challenged in a futile effort to make an android blush. "Why R Dorothy Wayneright, you little tease, you."

"I am merely stating the obvious," Dorothy said coldly, but of course her voice was often cold. "What do you recommend for an appetizer?"

"It sounds like you think that I should have a more active social life," Roger teased. "Tell you what. From now on, I'll go out, meet some girls, and have a different woman over every night. Would that satisfy you?"

Dorothy lowered her menu to stare coldly at the tuxedoed young negotiator. Since Dorothy wasn't human, her body didn't respond involuntarily to her emotions. That meant that any expression on her face was one she chose. Her eyes were narrow slits, an odd choice to convey hostility, for it gave the impression that the person had impaired vision, and thus would have a disadvantage in combat. Her mouth was a thin hard line, again a strange choice for threatening behavior, for if a traveler came upon an animal in the wild, he would hope that its mouth would be a thin hard line, as opposed a slavering mass of fangs. "I doubt that will be necessary," she said flatly.

Roger chuckled to himself. He didn't think Dorothy really wanted him to be a social butterfly anyway. He suspected that she simply wanted him to be more intimate with his closest friends, specifically her. It was hubris to think that an emotionless android could develop a crush on him, but after all they had been through he didn't believe that R Dorothy Wayneright could truly be classified as 'emotionless'. "Why not start with the seafood platter?" he suggested. "The temperature and texture should provide you an interesting experience."

"Thank you Roger, I shall try the shrimp," she said as her eyes returned to her menu.

Despite the morbid incident at the cemetery Roger allowed himself to relax. Since destroying Big Fau he had been in a surprisingly cheery mood. After the final battle with the white megadeus, Roger hadn't suffered from any blackouts, visions, or hallucinations. No lucid dreams of books burning, megadeuses destroying cities, barcodes, bald children gazing into fires, or android factories producing Roger Smiths haunted him. He was getting his old confidence back, believing in one truth, that he commanded his own destiny. It didn't matter if he chose Big O or if Big O chose him. He once again trusted both the black megadeus and himself.

"Don't limit yourself to just the shrimp," Roger cajoled. "Get the whole platter. Sample them all."

"All right," she said without looking up from her menu. "What are you going to have?"

"I thought I'd have the Porterhouse steak," the tuxedoed negotiator smiled enthusiastically. "We only do this once a year so we might as well indulge!"

Dorothy once again lowered her menu. "Fish would be better for you," she passionlessly scolded.

"I had my heart set on a nice juicy steak," Roger countered.

"There are beef shortages after the riots and Big Fau's attacks on the city," Dorothy pointed out. "The docks and fishing boats weren't significantly harmed during the bombardment. There is plenty of fish."

"Most of the agricultural domes are on the outskirts of the city," Roger shrugged. "The one that took the most damage was old man Rosewater's farm, and it had already been burnt to the ground. I know beef is expensive now, but this is a special occasion."

"This wouldn't have anything to do with our food supplies at the mansion would it?" Dorothy asked him.

"Maybe," Roger shrugged. "We don't know how long these shortages are going to be and I want to make the good stuff last as long as I can."

"Very well Roger," she said as she disappeared behind her menu. "Enjoy your steak."

"When you've made your selection, lower your menu," Roger instructed. "It will let the waiters know that we're ready to order."

"I'm perusing the wine list," she told him.

"Of course," Roger nodded. "I'm going to have the merlot, but feel free to sample whatever kind you want. If you're going to have shrimp I recommend the chardonnay."

As they waited for service, Roger couldn't help but think back to the last time he went out to a restaurant with a woman. The diner he visited with Angel wasn't anywhere near as glamorous, but at least they served good food. Afterwards they had gone to the seashore and almost kissed before Roger hesitated. Would a similar scene play out this evening? Would Angel be proved right in her suspicions about Roger and Dorothy or would the negotiator once again find some way to spoil the moment?

At last a waiter approached their table, but when he arrived he said one of the last things a gentleman wants said in front of his date. "Mister Smith? A lady wishes to speak to you at her table sir." The card he handed Roger was embossed with the Paradigm Logo. "Please follow me."

"Who is it Roger?" Dorothy asked. What emotion was conveyed by her tone of voice? Curiosity? Uncertainty? Hard to tell with Dorothy.

"Looks like a possible job offer," he told her as he rose from the table. "I might as well go see what she wants. If the waiter comes by, tell them what I want. Back soon. Duty calls."

"She?" Dorothy said as she turned her head to look at her guardian following the waiter to a distant table. A blonde woman wearing a pink business suit was sitting at the table, but the young android couldn't identify her because she could only see the back of her. From a certain angle, Dorothy's neutral expression looked like a frown.

The waiter brought the young negotiator to a table where a pale woman waited for him. She was probably in her late forties or early fifties. It was hard to tell, since her hair was dyed an exquisite shade of blonde. She had strange and obviously artificial black eyes, like an insect's.

"Violet Web, perhaps the only woman on the Paradigm Corporation's board of directors," Roger sneered.

"Have a seat Mister Negotiator," she said. "I need to talk to you."

"It will have to be brief," Roger told her as he sat down. "I've got a lady friend waiting for me back at my table and my Porterhouse steak won't want to be kept waiting."

"I want to hire you," she told him.

"So I gathered, but I don't do missions for Paradigm anymore," he countered. "The only reason that I'm here is because a true gentleman doesn't ignore a lady. Is this for the company or is it personal?"

"Personal," she said tersely.

"Ah, then I'm all ears," Roger made a show of being relaxed. A gentleman never acts disrespectful to a lady but never passes up a chance to see a member of the Paradigm Corporation's corrupt board of directors squirm.

"I want you to conduct a negotiation for me," she told him.

"Again, so I gathered," he nodded. "Who with?"

"An assassin," she informed him.

Roger had expected a melodramatic response like this. Two Paradigm executives had been murdered. Both he and Web had witnessed the second murder. It would be naïve to not see the connection to the event at the cemetery to the job offered now. Still the response was sobering.

The handsome negotiator drew a breath and attempted to regain his flippant exterior, but his body language made it clear that he was getting serious. "You want me to negotiate with an assassin?" he joked grimly. "To arrange a murder or prevent one?"

"Prevent one," she snarled, "and perhaps arrange one. I need to know who killed Gasset and Owens, and if I'm on the list."

"It sounds like you need a private investigator…" Roger began.

"You don't understand," she told him. "I want to find out who hired the assassin and whether or not the killer is willing to turn on his employer."

"I see, not just a private eye job but an actual negotiation," Roger nodded. "Sorry Miss Web, but I don't think this is something that I want to get involved in."

"I don't know who hired the assassin or who's next," she hissed. "It doesn't take a genius to see the danger I'm in."

"And it doesn't take a genius to see the amount of danger I'd be in if I got involved," Roger pointed out. "If you want my services, you'll have to make it worth my while."

"Name your price Mister Smith," she told him. "Money is no object."

"What is taking you Roger? Whom are you talking to?" Dorothy's voice asked from over Violet Web's shoulder. The Paradigm board member turned to see a petite girl with a red pageboy haircut and deathly white skin. Her evening gown was a rich glossy green as were the opera gloves that covered her slender, dainty arms. Even the barrette placed over her auburn bangs was green. A white corsage shyly concealed her décolletage.

The winsome android blinked at Violet Web's unblinking stare. Was Dorothy expecting someone else or was she unbalanced by gazing into a pair of eyes even more lifeless and artificial than her own?

Suddenly it came to Roger and he smiled knowingly. The Paradigm board member had worn a black cape at the funeral like Dorothy had, but she was wearing a pink blouse and her hair was dyed a deep blonde. From the back Dorothy must have mistaken her for Angel! Was Dorothy jealous?

"The _android_?" Violet Web sneered as she turned back to Roger Smith. "The lady friend who is waiting at your table is your _android_? _This_ is who is more important than my job offer? Why don't you get your priorities straight Mister Smith?"

"It's a good thing that money is no object because after that crack I'm going to have to charge extra," he scolded. If Web had been male he would have punched him out or left right there.

"She's an android…" Web insisted stubbornly.

"Technically I'm a 'gynoid'," Dorothy corrected. "Male anthropomorphic robots are called 'androids' but female ones are called 'gynoids'. I'm female so you refer to me as a 'gynoid' or 'fembot'."

"You'll be 'female' only when you start pumping out babies," Web growled.

"Violet Web," Dorothy said her name as if it was a book title, not as if she was saying a name. "I've read your profile in _Who's Who_. You are the most powerful woman in Paradigm City. Your estimated age is five decades. You are unmarried, with no children. Does that mean that you aren't female either?"

"Shut up!" Web hissed. The board member was so angry she could barely speak. Her perfectly manicured hands shook as she took out a long cigarette holder from her handbag.

"Cut her some slack Dorothy, she's under a lot of strain," Roger smiled genially. "Apparently her life is in danger."

"If this is the way she talks to strangers I can see why," Dorothy replied. "I'm sorry, Roger. It appears that your time here is strictly professional. I'll get out of your way and let you work." Despite her words she didn't move a servo, but stood at attention like a soldier.

Violet Web lit a cigarette and placed it in her ornate cigarette holder. "Mister Negotiator, are you finished playing games with me?" the most powerful woman in Paradigm City asked irritably.

"Why yes, yes of course," Roger smiled like a guilty schoolboy.

The Paradigm board member took a drag from her cigarette holder while her face expressed skepticism. "I should hope so," she sneered. She glanced over at Dorothy Wayneright who hadn't moved but was emotionlessly observing the flustered woman. "You can go now, don't let me keep you," she said sarcastically as she took another puff.

"Very well," Dorothy curtsied as gracefully as a ballerina. Was she showing off for Roger? "Roger, I shall wait for you at our table."

Suddenly a loud crack exploded like thunder, and Violet Web jerked back in her seat, nearly tipping it over. As she dropped a shattered cigarette holder, she lurched forward and collapsed on the table.

"Miss Web!" Roger sprang from his seat and was at her side. When he pulled her up from the table he saw the blood running out of the collapsed woman's mouth. "What happened to her? Has she been shot?" Her glassy eyes stared uncomprehending as a strange gurgling or rattling sound was heard from her throat. The handsome young negotiator gasped in horror.

Roger closed her eyes and took a step away from the body. He closed his eyes and lowered his head as he clasped his hands.

Dorothy didn't say anything as the restaurant's patrons glanced over and the staff became concerned. She knelt down to pick up the fragments of the shattered cigarette holder. She inspected the ornate cigarette holder, attempting to put the pieces back together and noticed a nearly imperceptible inscription that read '_Euterpe_'.

* * *

On a desk filled with hourglasses a phone rings. Norman's hand picks up the receiver and a sinister voice says:

_Next: Erato _


	4. Erato

_The Big O and all of its settings and characters are owned by Cartoon Network, Sunrise, and Bandai Visual._

THE BIG O:

ACT 29

THE NINE MUSES OF DEATH!

_Chapter Four:_ _Erato_

"Just what is the meaning of this Dastun?" Roger Smith snarled as he slammed his fist on the Colonel's desk.

"For crying out loud Roger," Dastun shrugged wearily. "Try to look at it from our point of view. Two murders in one day. And both you and Miss Wayneright at the scene of both of them. You know damn well that I've got to check to see if there's a possible connection."

"The only connection we have is being at the wrong place at the wrong time!" Roger protested childishly. "You have no right to hold us here!"

"I have every right to keep you here!" Colonel Dastun retorted as he raised his voice. He stood up to lean across his desk and lock eyes with the indignant negotiator. "Just be glad I only brought you down here for questioning. If you two aren't suspects, I can still hold the two of you as material witnesses!"

"Dorothy and I have nothing to do with these bizarre murders!" Roger insisted. "We just wanted to have a night out on the town! Is going outside a crime these days?"

"Roger, we can place you at the scene of two of the murders," Dan Dastun protested as the two men stood up straight and allowed the colonel's desk to separate them. "And on the night of the first murder the only people who can verify your whereabouts is your butler and your devoted little assistant here. Both have a history of keeping your really _big_ _o_' secrets if you catch my drift. You can see where this puts me."

"What is it with you?" Somehow, Roger Smith managed to make a whine sound manly. "Last year you tried to put me away for kidnapping Francis Wise. Then you suspected me in the Ellen Waite case. And now you think I'm bumping off the Paradigm executives? This is ridiculous Dastun; you know everything I do. What have you got against me anyhow?"

"It's not like that and you know it!" Dastun growled. "Look Roger. This is serious. Violet Web was on the Paradigm Board of Directors! If it looks like I'm not doing my job they'll replace me with somebody who will you damn fool! Somebody who won't hesitate to lock you up just for being there. Just be grateful that the jerk you have to deal with is _me _you idiot!"

"Grateful?" Roger widened his eyes in sarcastic surprise. "You expect me to be grateful for suspecting an innocent man?"

"Darn right," Dastun nodded. "Let's take that incident last year in the cabin with Francis Wise for instance. That was some stunt you pulled with your remote control car. Do you really think that anybody else wouldn't have given the order to open fire?"

"What? I'm supposed to thank you for hunting me down like a criminal?" Roger huffed indignantly.

"That's right you ingrate," Dastun nodded as he scolded the young negotiator as if he was an unruly child. "When the military police got the tip that you kidnapped Francis Wise and where to find you I _volunteered_ to lead the squad that would bring you in. I hoped that if you saw that it was me you wouldn't run. Instead you jumped through the air like the human cannonball and drove off in your Smithmobile. You fool! Don't you know that a dead man is easier to frame than a live one? Old man Wise came clean and explained the whole thing that very night. If you had just come along quietly you would have been out before daylight. Instead you ran off like a fugitive and risked getting your head blown off by some trigger-happy cop. What's wrong with you anyway?"

"I control my own destiny and don't let someone else control it for me!" Roger insisted. "I took matters into my own hands and found the proof to clear my name on my own!"

"Old man Wise cleared your name," Dastun insisted. "And it was the black megadeus that brought us the kidnappers not you, you moron!" Dastun put his finger to his lips signaling Roger to be quiet.

Roger made a growling noise as he struggled to keep his tongue still. Dastun was signaling that he believed that someone could be listening in.

The grizzled cop sighed and allowed himself to relax. "Look Roger, personally I don't think you had anything to do with it but I have to check every lead. If you share what you know I'll share what I know, deal?"

Roger crossed his arms and nodded, attempting to rein in his temper. Dastun was offering to share information, and Roger decided to take the offer before it expired.

"Let's start at the juicy part," Dastun sighed. "What where you doing at Violet Web's table?"

"She wanted to hire me," Roger huffed as frowned at the floor. "She knew her life was in danger and she wanted me to investigate."

"Did you take the job?" Dastun asked.

"Hard to say," Roger shrugged, his voice finally softening. "She died before we could complete the deal."

"What was Dorothy doing there?" Dastun glanced over into the corner of his office, where Dorothy Wayneright was silently standing as still as a statue.

"We went to Rosterman's to celebrate our anniversary, not to conduct business," Roger admitted. "She wanted to know what I was doing at Web's table just as much as you do."

"Great," Dastun grumbled. "That leaves us back at Square One."

"Okay, what do we know?" Roger looked up from the floor to address Dastun. "So far we have three mysterious deaths, all Paradigm executives. Two of them had mysterious names left at the crime scene, one did not."

"Names?" Dorothy spoke up. "What names are you referring to, Roger?"

"Do the names 'Clio', and 'Thalia' mean anything to you?" Dastun asked.

"They are both women's names," Dorothy responded, "but not common ones. Is 'Eurterpe' a name?"

"'Eurterpe'?" Roger repeated. "Where did you hear that?"

"It was inscribed on the cigarette holder that shattered in Violet Web's mouth," she told them. "The inscription was very small and hard to see. I assumed it was the manufacturer."

"We could have _three_ mysterious names," Roger said as he turned back to Dan Dastun. "Have you figured out what happened to Fraiser Owens?"

"We found a mysterious drug in his hip-flask," Dastun told him. "So far it defies analysis, so we sent a sample to Paradigm Labs. Everyone who knew Owens knew that he always carried a flask of whiskey with him wherever he went. He used to say that it was 'his secret public vice'. We're still trying to find out how it got in there in the first place."

"Any idea who sent the flowers to Phil Gasset's funeral?" Roger asked.

"Yeah, some bag lady ordered the flowers," Dastun replied. "Paid in cash. Didn't give her name."

"I see," Roger nodded. "What happened to Violet Web?"

"It turns out that cigarette holder wasn't one of hers," Dastun shrugged. "Apparently it had been booby-trapped to fire a spike–like projectile when the trigger mechanism in the holder became hot. Her autopsy is still pending, but the coroner says that the mouthpiece had been driven up through the roof of her mouth and into her brain. She must have been killed instantly." A knock at the door caused him to turn his head. "Come in," Dastun called out. The door opened and Dastun's mouth gaped in surprise before he groaned in resignation at his latest visitor. "I should have known the home office would send you. It was just a matter of time."

"R. Frederick O'Reilly," Roger announced sarcastically. "The Paradigm Corporation's android inspector from the home office. To what do we owe this dubious honor?"

R Frederick O'Reilly was dressed in black slacks, white gloves, tan trench coat and gray fedora. With his coat shut it was difficult to see his shirt, but he had a white cravat at his metal and plastic throat. His head appeared to be gas mask worn over a motorcycle helmet, for the speaker he used for a mouth dominated the lower part of the android's face. "Good evening, Mister Smith, Miss Wayneright," he said in a polite and gentle voice. "Please forgive the intrusion but I have business to discuss with Colonel Dastun."

"That's okay, we were just leaving," Roger told him before glancing in the beleaguered Colonel's direction. "Isn't that right, Dastun?"

"Sure, don't pretend that _I_ give a damn," Dastun shrugged. "Have a good evening you two, and don't let the door hit you on the way out."

As Roger and Dorothy walked down the hall, they got more than their fair share of stares because of their fancy clothes. They looked like a teenage couple on prom night. They may not have been going to a prom, but now it _was_ night. Dastun had detained them for hours.

"Well Roger, what now?" the android asked.

"Our first anniversary looks like a bust Dorothy," Roger sighed as he put his hands in his pockets. "I was hoping that we would go dancing but we might as well go home."

"You were going to take me dancing?" Dorothy's quiet monotone made her sound shy.

"Yep," Roger nodded. "Why not? You can sing and play the piano. I'd surprised if you didn't know how to dance too."

"You want to help Colonel Dastun solve the case don't you?" Dorothy's words sounded more like a statement than a question.

"We're involved whether we like it or not," Roger shrugged. "Besides I feel like I owe it to Violet Web. Even though she probably deserved what happened to her, it's hard to turn down a woman's cry for help."

"You are not responsible for what happened at Rosterman's," Dorothy pointed out.

"True, but it seems foolish to ignore the power struggle taking place in Paradigm," Roger countered as he examined his wristwatch. "As Big O's pilot I'm on the radar whether I like it or not." He twiddled with his watch and tiny words appeared on its face: AUTO RECALL.

* * *

Back at Rosterman's parking lot, the long black sedan known as the Griffin started it's engine and activated its headlights. The parking attendant could only stare in slack-jawed disbelief as the empty ebony automobile drove out of the parking lot and onto the street.

* * *

_This place, Paradigm City… is a city of forgetfulness. Over forty years ago, everybody, human and robot lost all memory of what had happened before. But memories, like nightmares, have a habit of appearing when you least expect them…_

The sleek onyx Griffin pulled up in front of the Military Police's 1st precinct building and double-parked as Dorothy and Roger walked over to it. As Roger entered the driver's seat, a tiny gray screen on the dashboard chimed with the word 'CALL' blinking in capital white letters. A panel slid open revealing a microphone/speaker that was attached to the secret compartment by a curly telephone cord. Roger picked up the mike and pressed a button with his thumb to speak into it. "Yes, Norman?"

"Master Roger," the words on the screen vanished to be replaced by a gray monochromatic image of a balding elderly man in formal dress sporting an eye patch and a magnificent white mustache. "You have a telephone call from a young woman. From the tone of her voice she seems to be in a considerable state of distress."

"Another damsel in distress?" Roger blinked. "Very well, I'll take the call."

"Very good sir," Norman's image disappeared to be replaced by a horizontal line that vibrated with each word and sound being transmitted to the speakers in the car.

"Roger?" a woman's voice asked hesitantly. "Roger? Are you there?"

"Angel?" Roger gasped. Ever since the surreal three-way battle between himself, Alex Rosewater and the Union, he had only seen the buxom blonde bombshell in hallucinations and flashbacks. "Is that you? Where are you? I've been so worried."

The shadows cast by the streetlamps' light filtering in through the car's windows made Dorothy's neutral expression look like a frown.

"Roger!" Angel's frightened voice pleaded. "Roger, they're after me! They're all after me! But he's different! He knows where I am! I think I'm being followed! I don't dare go back underground! There's no place I can hide! You've got to help me!"

"Now Angel, calm down, you've got to calm down," Roger insisted as he struggled to keep calm himself. "Where are you? Can you get to the mansion? Or someplace full of people? Where can we meet? I'll come pick you up and then we can talk about this."

"I'm at a public pay phone," she told him. "Remember the diner we ate at? The night Vera… Agent 12 arrived in town? It was the night that…" her voice trailed off.

"Yes, before we went to the seashore," he replied. That night held so many bad memories. Almost kissing Angel and breaking her heart instead. Alan Gabriel wounding Dorothy, and getting away. Suffering from visions of barcodes and tomatoes while battling what should have been a pushover giant robot. It was hard to forget that evening no matter how hard he tried.

"We can meet there," Angel's voice confirmed. "I'm close by, it's just a couple of blocks! You've got to protect me Roger, there's no one else I can turn to!"

"Gotcha," Roger nodded. "We'll be there in a few minutes. Don't worry, Angel. I won't let anything happen to you."

As the Griffon drove off, outside the domes it started to rain. Dorothy stared straight ahead, saying nothing. Roger wasn't better company. When the car left the dome, he had to give his total attention to the slick and treacherous roads. The constant detours and blocked off streets didn't make driving any easier, and the sky had managed to let loose a downpour that nearly obscured his vision. Several times Roger was forced to use the sonar and City Positioning System whose readouts were visible on television screens placed at either side of the steering wheel.

At a stoplight, Roger spared a glance at Dorothy, but she turned her head to look out the right window. The light from a passing car's headlights briefly caused Dorothy's window to reflect her image, allowing Roger to glimpse the stoic expression on her face. For an instant, her reflection obscured the raindrops on the window, but swollen drops of water could still be clearly seen running down her mirror image's white cheeks.

Despite all the detours they had to take, Roger and Dorothy finally parked across the street from the diner. "Stay in the car," Roger told her as he shut off the engine. "There's no point ruining your beautiful dress and I'll be back in a minute."

"I want to come with you," Dorothy replied in her stoic monotone. "My cloak is in the trunk, remember? We are going inside. We won't be out in the rain that long."

Roger frowned in irritation. Angel said she thought she was being followed. If whoever was following her decided to get rough he would rather have Dorothy safe in the car than in the line of fire. Unfortunately, Dorothy was smart enough to figure out that Roger could be in danger and didn't want him going in alone. Or was Dorothy worried that Roger's reunion with Angel would be tearful and romantic? Hard to tell with an android, even she didn't have a face like R Fredrick O'Reilly.

Knowing how stubborn Dorothy could be he simply growled "Fine," and left the car. As he opened the trunk and retrieved the folded black cloak he felt the rain go down the collar of his shirt and trickle down his back. He had once said that 'Sometimes a man chooses to stand in the rain without an umbrella. That's what it means to be a free human being.' He had to admit that sounded a lot better than 'Darn it, despite this city's unpredictable weather I forgot to pack an umbrella just in case.' As he jogged to Dorothy's side of the car he estimated that if he had simply dashed into the diner instead of getting Dorothy's cloak he would be a lot drier.

He opened the door and handed Dorothy the black cloak without a word, although the scowl on his rain soaked face spoke volumes. Dorothy stepped out of the car wearing the cloak with the cowl pulled up. Roger pulled out a small device and pressed a button with his thumb, activating the armor that completely surrounded the car and made it virtually impossible to steal.

There weren't many customers in the diner that night, so it wasn't hard to spot a bedraggled blonde in a pink coat and a black cocktail dress hunched over a cup of coffee. "Roger," she whimpered timidly from the corner table.

"Angel," Roger nodded curtly. Even soaked, starved, and shivering Angel still looked beautiful, but she didn't look healthy. Her skin was pulled tight against her bones, and the dark circles around her eyes made her look ten years older. She had lost weight. Her curves weren't quite as exaggerated as he remembered them. Her hands shook as she lit a cigarette, reminding Roger of the last blonde who lit up in his presence. "The car's outside. I'll take you to my place. You should be safe there."

"Thank you," she smiled weakly at him as before she slurped her coffee down. When had she slept last? She looked like she hadn't gotten a good night's sleep in days.

Roger's stomach chose that moment to growl, reminding him that the police had detained him before he got a chance to enjoy his dinner. "Sorry about that," he shrugged. "Let's get you out of here and see if Norman has anything for us. You look like you could use a hot meal as much as I do."

"It's a deal," she nodded as she rose shakily to her feet. "If there's anyway I can thank you just name it," the bedraggled blonde spread her arms to embrace Roger, but backed away when she saw Dorothy lower the hood of her cloak. "Oh! Dorothy…" Angel blushed; giving her pale face some much needed color. "I'm sorry. I didn't see you there."

"I'm used to it," the android replied stoically.

"Come on, let's get out of here before the storm gets any worse," Roger said as he gallantly gave the frightened blonde his arm.

They paused after they stepped outside, using the narrow awning over the door to the diner to survey the distance to the Griffin through the obfuscating torrent of rain. Dorothy's head jerked to the side so she could look at a poster-board sign leaning against the wall. "That sign. It wasn't there before," she said quietly.

"What?" Roger gasped, and both he and Angel stared at the sign. It depicted an exotic stringed instrument and a single word: _Erato_.

"He's found me!" Angel shrieked. "He's found me!"

On the roof of the building across the street, a shadowy figure in a worn and threadbare raincoat peered through a scope that was attached to a crossbow. He could see the woman's terrified expression quite clearly even though the view through the night vision targeting scope appeared to bathe everything in a green monochrome. Not even the crosshairs placed over her face could obscure the fear in the Angel's eyes.

* * *

On a desk filled with hourglasses a phone rings. Norman's hand picks up the receiver and a sinister voice says:

_Next: Broken Birds_


	5. Broken Birds

_The Big O__ and all of its settings and characters are owned by Cartoon Network, Sunrise, and Bandai Visual._

THE BIG O:

ACT 29

THE NINE MUSES OF DEATH!

_Chapter Five:_ _Broken Birds_

Dorothy looked up at the roof of the building across the street. As the assassin fired his crossbow the android leapt forward to knock Roger and Angel to the ground. A metallic 'thunk' could be heard as a crossbow bolt pierced Dorothy's side through the obscuring black cloak she wore over her emerald evening gown. Angel's scream was cut short as her head hit the sidewalk. Roger looked over to see a metal bolt protruding from the android's side. Dorothy was shot!

"Dorothy!" He cried before he looked up at the building across the street. To reach the Griffin he'd probably be running directly towards the assassin. Based on the angle of the shot, the crossbowman would have to be on an upper story or on the roof.

"Run Roger," Dorothy's calm voice was eerie considering there was a crossbow bolt just under her ribs. "Get the car and come back for us."

A second crossbow bolt impacted with the sidewalk after piercing Dorothy's cloak. That jolted the startled negotiator to his feet and he dashed across the wet and slippery street, hoping the rain would obscure the assassin's vision enough for him to make it. Sure enough, a third bolt pierced Dorothy's cloak, causing the android to flinch under the impact.

Roger put his hands out to stop himself as he reached the car. He reached into his pocket to find the little remote to deactivate the Griffin's armor. As the whirring of the retracting armor struggled to be heard over the white noise of the rain, Roger shuddered as he heard yet another metallic 'thunk' of a crossbow bolt hitting Dorothy. This one appeared as if it struck her center of mass, right in the back.

He popped open the door and slid into the driver's seat and gunned the engine. Somehow the long black Cadillac managed to execute a U-turn despite the pouring rain. Big Fau's attack a few months back insured that there were almost no vehicles parked up against the curb to narrow the street, for most cars were in the junkyard these days.

As Roger hit a button, both the passenger door and the back seat door popped open.

Dorothy turned her head and shouted through the driving rain. "It's too late Roger! It's too late!"

"No! Angel!" he cried as he climbed across to the passenger seat to exit the car on Dorothy's side. He crouched low to allow the car to shield himself from the crossbowman's shots. "Don't die on me, Angel!"

"IT IS TOO LATE!" Dorothy's voice rose to a painful volume as Roger pushed the android off Angel to embrace the stricken blonde. Dorothy's protest sounded like a megaphone being used just inches from his ear. "THERE IS NOTHING MORE WE CAN DO! IT IS TOO LATE!"

"Shut up Dorothy! I'm not leaving her here!" Roger shouted as he put the comatose blonde woman in the back seat as gently as he could. "Get in the car! Now!" He dove back in through the passenger seat to crawl back to the driver's seat.

Dorothy did her best, but with the crossbow bolts piercing her flesh and clothing, movement was awkward. She undid the clasp and tore off her cloak off her back, leaving the black garment to flap in the breeze where a bolt had nailed it to the sidewalk. That particular bolt had pierced her skirt as well, forcing the android to tear her dress and expose her ghostly white legs to the rain before she managed to enter the car.

The wheels of the Griffin spun on the wet asphalt before finding traction and propelling the mighty vehicle through the cracked and damaged streets of Paradigm. Roger was so angry that he wanted to fire the car's weapons at the homicidal crossbowman, but without knowing were he was and how many innocents were in the building it was too risky.

"Damn it Dorothy!" Roger snarled. "You could at least show a little hope! If we get her to the hospital they might be able to do _something_!"

"I hope so," the android replied. "She hit her head when I knocked her to the ground." Dorothy was kneeling on the passenger seat facing the rear of the car to accommodate crossbow bolts sticking out of her body. One was sticking out of her side, just below the ribs. Another had punctured her left buttock, making sitting down a challenge for anyone. The third was in her back; square between her shoulders and her barebacked evening gown didn't hide the fact that the bolt pierced her synthetic flesh. In the proper light, she would resemble a martyr from an old church painting.

"What? I thought she was shot," Roger protested as a pothole caused the car to rock and filthy water to splash the windows. He was driving too fast and the road was too treacherous for him to spare a glance at Dorothy.

"Only I was shot, Roger," Dorothy informed. "Crossbow bolts are not good for me, but I can survive longer without treatment than Angel can."

"Then why did you say it was too late?" Roger asked. "We don't know if Angel has a concussion. She may be fine."

"It is too late to salvage our evening, Roger," Dorothy informed him. "There is nothing else we can do. It is completely ruined."

"The evening?" Roger blinked in confusion before he laughed out loud. "From the way you were shouting at me, I thought you meant that it was too late for Angel."

"Do you think the gunman thought so too?" Dorothy asked.

"The gunman?" Roger struggled to keep track of the conversation and all of the detours the ruined streets forced him to take. "I get it! That's why you were shouting so loud! You were trying to make the guy firing the crossbow think that Angel was dead!"

"If he thought that he had eliminated his target maybe he would stop shooting," Dorothy agreed. "You may notice that I have three crossbow bolts sticking out of my body." Dorothy's deadpanned. "I don't need four."

"I thought you weren't comfortable with lying," Roger teased.

"I wasn't lying," the android insisted. "The evening is ruined. Not even a quiet evening at home can be salvaged from this."

"You got that right," Roger turned onto a main thoroughfare, but he had to get off after half a mile since construction crews had cordoned off a damaged section. "The question is, do we take Angel to the hospital or take her home to let the murderer think she's dead?"

"I don't know how badly she's hurt," Dorothy admitted. "You shall have to go on instinct, Roger."

"An android lecturing me on instinct?" Roger joked.

"You once served with the military police," Dorothy clarified. "You can make a decision based on experience."

"Then I'm going to let paranoia override common sense," Roger sighed. "I'm going to take her home."

"Paranoia has its place if parties unknown really _are_ out to get you," Dorothy said before lapsing into her customary silence.

At a stoplight, Roger used his radio to contact his butler. "Norman, Dorothy and I are coming home. Prepare a room for a guest that needs medical attention, and prepare some soup and sandwiches if you have time."

"Never fear Master Roger," the monochromatic image of an elderly man answered from the screen in the car. "Everything will be ready when you arrive," he added with a nod before breaking contact.

* * *

Driving through the damaged and blocked off streets of Paradigm in the rain seemed to take forever. Finally, the Griffin pulled into the basement garage under the white tower that Roger made his home. To his relief, the tall and gangly Norman Burg was there with a stretcher and a doctor's bag when they drove in.

"Oh my, Miss Dorothy," the elderly butler gasped as the injured android awkwardly exited the car. "Are you all right? What is that protruding from your back?"

"I will be fine Norman," Dorothy assured him. "The damage is superficial."

Now that they were off the slick and darkened roads, Roger could fully assess Dorothy's injuries. The remnants of her evening gown were pinned to her body by the three bolts that pierced her synthetic flesh. Her skirt was torn, exposing one her marble white legs and half of the other. Combined with the dour expression on her face and her ivory skin, she looked like the ghost of a girl who had been murdered on her prom night.

Roger tensed at the sight of the stoic Dorothy's injuries and his face darkened. He looked at the floor and hugged himself to fend off both a chill from his wet clothes and his turbulent emotions. Dorothy had once again been injured, and this time right in front him. No matter how he tried, the mechanical girl kept getting hurt! This had to stop!

"Don't worry about me, Norman," Dorothy took one end of the stretcher from the one-eyed butler. "Angel is hurt. It is likely that her injuries are much worse than mine."

"Very well Miss Dorothy," Norman surrendered gracefully as they pulled Angel out of the back seat and placed her on the stretcher. "Soup and sandwiches are waiting for you in the kitchen Master Roger," he assured his master as they passed Roger and headed for the elevator.

What is wrong with me? Roger asked himself. I'm panicking just because Dorothy's metal hide has been damaged. She's been repaired before. What's the big deal? The image of Roscoe Fitzgerald sitting in his wheelchair invaded his mind. The elderly man was really an android, but in the forty years since the event that erased everybody's memories his body had worn out and he had actually grown old, just like a human would.

Androids don't heal like humans do. They have to be repaired, and if nobody knows how they will just have to make do until their injuries overcome them. Every time Dorothy was injured she wasn't restored to mint condition the way Timothy Wayneright created her. Her wounds were merely mended and covered up. Every cut and ding added up, and if Roger wasn't careful, Dorothy's run time could be shortened every time she was hurt. For crying out loud, Roscoe Fitzgerald should have had enough money and power to keep himself in top rate working order, and he spent his remaining years confined to a wheelchair!

He was being silly. Humans get scars too, and not all injuries heal. At least in Dorothy's case an organ transplant has a much better chance of success. Still, the thought of the girlish Dorothy being confined to a wheelchair with power and hydraulic cables protruding from her back just sickened him. He would have to find her blueprints. It was the only way to erase every injury that his carelessness cost her. Every _physical_ injury at least…

* * *

He changed out of his scuffed and waterlogged tuxedo and into some dry clothes. He wasn't going out so there was no point dressing up. Black pants, socks, shoes and tee shirt under a black turtleneck sweater would do. The best part about only wearing black is that it is easy to coordinate.

Roger entered the kitchen and poured himself some chicken soup to go with the tuna sandwich Norman had provided for him. He ate ravenously. Maybe he was just hungry. The sun was down and he hadn't had anything since breakfast. That would explain it. Anyone would be off their game going that long without food, right?

"Miss Angel is sleeping Master Roger," Norman informed him. The negotiator shuddered in surprise. He hadn't heard Norman come in. The old man was kind enough to completely ignore his master's attempts to compose himself. "Miss Dorothy is watching her. I told her to apply ice for twenty minutes at a time and repeat about every two to four hours."

"That's about as much as anyone can do I suppose," Roger sighed. "How's Dorothy? She wasn't hit anywhere vital, was she?"

"Thankfully no," the old man sighed in relief. "The crossbow bolts didn't get very far into her because of their peculiar heart-shaped design."

"Heart-shaped?" Roger repeated, raising an eyebrow.

"Yes sir," Norman approached the table and placed one of the crossbow bolts before his master. "I took this one out of Dorothy's side. Notice the strange heart-shaped arrowhead it is topped with. Much more useful for slicing through flesh than for piercing armor."

"Or in this case, Dorothy's metal hide," Roger nodded letting out a sigh. "How is she taking it?"

"Surprisingly well," Norman shrugged. "She told me to go to bed and finish her repairs in the morning. She said she would wake me if there was any change in our injured houseguest."

"You don't suppose she's feeling guilty?" Roger felt foolish trying to explain Dorothy's actions with emotions, but lately he felt it was just as silly to think that the android didn't have any. "After all, Angel hit her head when Dorothy pushed her down and took the shot for her."

"After seeing the damage the sniper did to Miss Dorothy I'd say that Angel got a bargain," the butler joked grimly. "In my opinion, the first shot that Dorothy took would have killed a human. Not instantly perhaps, but still…"

Now that Roger had some food in him, he could clear his head and think rationally. "Any luck in getting Dorothy to cough up her blueprints?"

"The ones you received from the Paradigm Corporation?" Norman raised a snow-white eyebrow. "Fortunately, the damage is too superficial for any need to trouble her over a little thing like that, sir."

"If it's so little, why isn't she letting us see them?" Roger grumbled. "I understand keeping them from me, but why can't you see them? It doesn't make any sense."

"Perhaps she is worried about doctor-patient confidentiality," the old man offered. "After all, you are the one who signs my paycheck."

His employer nodded as he chewed his sandwich. "All right Norman. You've got a point there. Tell you what. Tomorrow we'll offer Dorothy a promise of confidentiality. I'll order you in front of her not to let me see her blueprints without her permission."

"That sounds reasonable," the old man nodded. "I don't see why she should object to that."

"Me neither," Roger sighed. "That leaves me to figure out why someone who is hunting Paradigm executives decided to break the pattern and go after Angel. It just doesn't add up."

* * *

In another room, the mysterious woman known as Angel was lying in bed with an IV drip attached to one arm. Even after being on the run for over a month, even after being knocked senseless, Angel was a vision of loveliness. Dorothy Wayneright had changed into a dowdy reddish black dress and was applying an icepack to her head.

Dorothy's unblinking gaze was locked on her patient. As an android, Dorothy had perfect recall. Almost against her will, she replayed the events of the night in perfect detail.

_"Angel? Is that you? Where are you? I've been so worried."_ Roger had said.

"_Remember the diner we ate at?_" Angel had asked. "_It was the night that…"_

_"Yes, before we went to the seashore,"_ Roger's voice had been filled with regret, but that was nothing compared to Roger's reaction when he thought Angel might have died. _"No! Angel! Don't die on me, Angel!"_

Roger had pushed the wounded Dorothy away to embrace the precious Angel. _"Shut up Dorothy! I'm not leaving her here!"_ Roger had shouted at the girl who had taken three shots with a crossbow to save the woman the negotiator had cradled in his arms.

Dorothy looked away from her patient to gaze out the window, but with the lights on inside and darkness without, the pane became a mirror that only reflected the image of a grim girl who was as still as death. "You really are such a louse, Roger Smith," the mechanical girl muttered.

* * *

On a desk filled with hourglasses a phone rings. Norman's hand picks up the receiver and a sinister voice says:

_Next: Terpsichore_


	6. Terpsichore

_The Big O__ and all of its settings and characters are owned by Cartoon Network, Sunrise, and Bandai Visual._

THE BIG O:

ACT 29

THE NINE MUSES OF DEATH!

_Chapter Six:_ _Terpsichore_

That morning Roger slept in past twelve. The negotiator enjoyed the peace and quiet, at least before he abruptly woke up in a panic and staggered out of his bedroom without putting on his robe and slippers. "Dorothy!" he shouted. "Dorothy where are you?"

"I am here Roger," the android girl replied as she stepped into the parlor. She was wearing a white apron over a dowdy reddish black dress. A white nurse's cap covered her head at the place usually reserved for her barrette, allowing her red bangs to peek out. "There's no need to worry. Are you all right? Did you have a fright?"

"No I didn't have a fright," Roger growled, trying to hide his blushing. "I didn't wake up to that infernal racket you make every morning, that's all."

"_Afternoon_," Dorothy corrected. "That infernal racket I make every afternoon. I always let you sleep in past twelve."

"Whatever." Roger refused to admit his disadvantage and assumed a commanding tone. "The point is that you didn't wake me up with that awful music of yours and I got worried that's all. Give me a break, you were shot three times last night."

"Thank you for noticing," the girl said dryly.

Roger's blush returned in full force. He thought fast and chose that moment to continue an unfinished battle. "Yes, well, I couldn't help wondering… considering your recent injures this might be a good time to let Norman study your blueprints…"

"My blueprints?" Dorothy gently frowned, but of course that was her usual facial expression. "Why would he need to see those Roger Smith?"

Roger smiled knowingly. Dorothy only called him by his last name when she was upset. "As your physician, I think that he's entitled to any data that would ensure you a long and healthy life, don't you agree? I let him see _my_ medical documents, I don't see what the big deal is."

"I thought that it was _you_ who wanted to see my blueprints, Roger Smith," Dorothy's voice was stubborn. She was getting better at expressing herself.

"There's no point for me to see them until he's ready to teach us advanced robotics," Roger shrugged. "Besides, it would be improper for me to view them unless Norman received your express permission to break doctor-patient confidentiality." The negotiator stopped being smug, and assumed his gentle 'sincere and serious' voice he used for sensitive negotiations. "You're right, Dorothy. It _is_ your body. I shouldn't mettle, but I can't stand the thought of you being hurt, even if it's hidden under the skin. I sleep better knowing that underneath that pretty exterior is a perfectly functioning machine. Don't the hurts and dings add up after a while?"

"So it's a health issue?" Dorothy cocked her head.

"Yes, it's a health issue," Roger nodded. "What else would it be? And speaking of health, what is that silly nurse's hat doing on your head?"

"I am helping Norman take care of Angel," Dorothy explained. "I do not have to sleep and now he has three of us to care for."

As always, Dorothy had managed to shame him by placing other people's welfare in front of her own. He couldn't blame her. Norman probably had his hands full repairing the android's wounds that morning and the girl probably wanted to make sure the old man had a good night's sleep the night before.

"How is she?" he asked.

"Confused," the android replied. "She does not seem to remember last night and often repeats herself."

"Is she well enough to have breakfast with us?" he asked.

"I'll go ask her."

* * *

After breakfast, Angel lay in bed and looked at a wallet-sized picture of Roger Smith that was in a little frame and cardboard stand. The remains of her breakfast was on an end table nearby.

"Do you want me to sign it for you?" Roger asked from the door.

The blonde laughed self-consciously. "No thanks, that won't be necessary. What happened to me?" she asked, trying to make her voice light.

"You hit your head when Dorothy pushed you out of the way of a crossbow bolt," Roger explained. "The poor girl took three shots for you."

"Dorothy took three shots… for me?" the blonde asked incredulously. In her minds eye she recalled having her gun pointed at the back of Agent 271, the murderous cyborg Alan Gabriel. She couldn't protect Dorothy from her fellow Union agent, not when Alan had pointed out that Roger Smith cared for the android more than anyone. _Anyone_. Even Angel.

She remembered the android's… no… the girl's… dark eyes staring at her in sympathy instead of fear or jealousy. When Angel had collapsed in a sobbing heap, Dorothy was forced to defend herself to buy time for Roger to arrive and save her. There was no point depending on old undependable untrustworthy Angel, was there?

But Dorothy hadn't hesitated to save Angel's life had she? The android girl took three shots for a woman who had simply watched as a homicidal manic chased her to the edge of an abyss and threatened to destroy her one piece at a time.

Tears trickled down Angel's cheeks as she relived the one of the most shameful experiences of her life. She had done a lot of questionable things as a double agent but the sheer cowardice and weakness of that moment tore at the blonde's very identity. She covered her face with her hands and sobbed into them, unable to face Roger or anyone else.

The negotiator gulped and took a step backwards. It was obvious that Angel hadn't recovered from being on the run for the last few months, let alone the injury she received last night. "I'll uh… come back when you're feeling better," he said lamely as he backed out of the room. "In the meantime get some rest and eat whatever Norman and Dorothy put in front of you. You need to get your strength back, Angel."

She waved at him to go as she continued to cover her face with her hand.

* * *

As Roger Smith drove down the shattered streets of Paradigm City, back at the mansion, Dorothy flipped through his journal to read the final entry.

_So far three Paradigm Executives are dead, and Angel is injured. The logical suspects are the surviving board members. Most likely, one of them wants to be top dog and hired an expert to eliminate the others. What I don't understand is why the assassin went after Angel. It was the same signature. A mysterious name and another archaic symbol at the crime scene, yet each death was executed differently. Why? What was the killer was trying to say? _

_Angel. A mysterious woman from another land who names herself after a heavenly being. Ironic when it's obvious that she has been cast out for her lack of faith. A woman who could hold the key to the eternal mystery of Paradigm City. Is that what the killer is after? Is he eliminating everyone who has memories that only the most privileged possess?_

_Paradigm Headquarters. Once the most magnificent dome in the city and now just another ruined building. Yet even with many of the upper stories being scheduled for demolition the 'puzzle palace' is still the warren for the nest of rats that control the city. _

* * *

"Roger Smith!" he passed his card to the beautiful woman on the other end of the counter in the grand atrium of Paradigm Headquarters. He had to shout because of the all the construction work going on. Daylight filtered in through the enormous gaps in the dome and the dome outside.

"What can I do for you Mister Smith?" the girl shouted back at him over the din from the heavy construction equipment being used only a dozen yards away.

"I'd like to see Francis Erskine!" he bellowed back.

"Who?"

"Francis Erskine!"

"You would like to see Francis Erskine?"

"Yes!"

"Do you have an appointment?"

"What?"

"Do you have an appointment?"

A lie might be believed. "Yes!" he nodded in case she couldn't hear.

"You're not in the system Mister Smith!" she shouted.

"What?"

"I said 'you're not in the system'!"

"I know!" he lied. "He wanted the meeting to be confidential!"

"What?"

"Confidential!"

"What's confidential?"

"He wanted the meeting to be confidential!" The noise from the construction going on abruptly stopped, but Roger was still shouting. "He wanted this meeting to be top secret! After what happened to Violet Web he doesn't trust anyone!" Roger stopped, suddenly self-conscious. Over two thirds of the atrium was closed off, causing the formerly spacious area to be rather crowded. People unaccustomed to standing in lines were staring at him.

One person who wasn't standing in line was the Paradigm Board member, Carl Heller. Heller a balding man in his thirties who was rather attractive in a militant way and stood out from his fellow board members by not appearing used up or unhealthy. Like Roger, his hair was jet black, and like Roger, he did not like to be kept waiting. So what was he doing walking through the main atrium like everybody else?

"Carl Heller!" Roger shouted as he dashed over to meet him.

"Roger Smith," the young executive greeted curtly as nodded to his bodyguards to let the negotiator approach him. "To what do I owe this dubious honor?"

"Just a concerned citizen concerned about the fate of our impeccable leadership," Roger quipped. "Got a minute?" the negotiator said.

"Not really, no," Heller shrugged. "The outbound tram is out so I had to drive to work today." Ironically, Heller was leading Roger to one of the monorail tramcars that connected the atrium to the rest of the complex. A man stood before the car in a snappy uniform holding a sign saying 'HELLER' to let commuters know the car was reserved.

Roger shuddered as he silently made a comparison between the white placard signs the murderer used and the sign that was being held by the Paradigm employee now. "Yeah, sorry about that," Roger shrugged. "Too bad that white megadeus had to attack the city and cause the black one to battle it right here huh? Which megadeus do you think did more damage to this place, the white or the black one?"

Heller fixed him with a withering look. He had been a supporter of Alex Rosewater and the 'New Order' that almost conquered Paradigm City, and didn't like being reminded of his involvement. "Do you have a point or just the one on top of your head, Smith?"

"Someone is targeting Paradigm executives," Roger explained. "The last victim was one of your fellow board members. You got any idea who has it out for you?"

"The list is so long that it would take your robot girlfriend to lift it," Heller snorted. "I don't recall hiring you as a security consultant."

"Like I said, I don't trust whoever is going to be in charge after he gets rid of the rest of you," Roger smiled. "Better the evil you know, right?"

"You got until I get into the gondola to state your case, Smith," Heller grunted. "After that you'll be talking to the air."

"All right, who do you think is gunning for you and why?" Roger asked. "It isn't just Paradigm executives who are on the chop. It looks like anyone who has access to forbidden memories is a target."

"You know something that I don't?" Heller raised a suspicious eyebrow.

"Maybe," Roger winked. This was the tricky part. Last he heard, Angel was still a fugitive, wanted for being a spy for the Union. Mentioning the beautiful blonde would mean turning her over to the authorities. That was probably the same as handing her over to whoever was trying to kill her. "But I'd bet money the reverse is true. The Paradigm Corporation under Alex Rosewater was digging up a lot of memories. The ultra-secret-lost-technology-from-before-forty-years-ago kind of memories. Somebody might want to keep them hidden, or better yet, keep them all to himself."

"You're fishing," Heller snorted, "but you think you know something that's putting you on this track. Tell me, Smith, why should I trust you?"

"Last time concerned citizens like me ignored a power struggle like this one it ended with a giant robot firing missiles at the city," Roger retorted, "and a bunch of scorpion robots attacked my house. An ounce of prevention is worth a pound of cure as they say."

Heller walked up the steps to the gondola with Roger. "You'll have to do better than that, Smith," Heller grunted. "What do you know that makes you think I have any idea what this is about?"

"Mister Heller, come on," Roger gently scolded. "Alex Rosewater may have played his cards close to the vest, but you of all people know what he knew and what he was up to. It's obvious that somebody wants to keep that secret. You must have some idea…"

"And so must you," Heller said as he stepped into the gondola. "Until you're ready to level with me, Smith, I've got nothing to say. Make an appointment with my secretary. By the time I have an opening in my schedule you should be ready to come clean." He turned and blocked the doorway. "Sorry. Only room in this car for one. Boys, make sure Mr. Smith waits for the next one."

"Sir?" One of the two bodyguards tapped on Roger's shoulder and gestured to the atrium behind them.

Roger frowned, but nodded and stepped back.

As he did he heard Heller remark: "What's the matter with this car, anyway? The carpet is soaking wet!" Then a humming and popping sound came from the gondola and Heller began jerking, jumping, and shaking as the smell of ozone filled the air.

"Mister Heller, Sir!" his younger bodyguard cried as he reached into the car for his boss.

"Wait! Don't!" Roger cried as he noticed the sparks and tiny chemical fires flicker on the carpet.

The bodyguard jerked backwards and fell down the steps, his blonde hair standing on end.

"He's being electrocuted!" Roger cried. "You've got to shut off the power!"

The remaining bodyguard used his handheld communications device to call for help as he knelt by his partner. Inside the tramcar, Carl Heller did a spastic death-dance as his clothing caught fire. Roger pulled his eyes away from the grisly sight and noticed that the employee that was saving the car for Heller was gone. He had left his sign behind, and turned it around, so the word on the reverse side could be seen: _Terpsichore._

* * *

On a desk filled with hourglasses a phone rings. Norman's hand picks up the receiver and a sinister voice says:

_Next: Polyhymia_


	7. Polyhymnia

_The Big O and all of its settings and characters are owned by Cartoon Network, Sunrise, and Bandai Visual._

THE BIG O:

ACT 29

THE NINE MUSES OF DEATH!

_Chapter Seven:_ _Polyhymnia_

Roger stared at the sign as he tried to ignore the spastic jig of Carl Heller's electrocuted corpse. Something was draped on one corner of the white placard sign, so the negotiator reached out to study it: A woman's veil.

It was a male employee who had held up the sign reserving the gondola. So where was he? Roger stepped up on the steps to the gondola and looked around the atrium. There he was! He was heading straight to the nearest exit! "There he goes!" Roger said as he leaped off the steps to barrel past Heller's two bodyguards. "You there! Stop!"

Roger pushed his way past the crowd to follow the assassin out the building. To his chagrin, he hadn't paid enough attention to the man holding the sign to memorize his features, and the man was wearing sunglasses and a chauffeur's cap besides. That didn't stop Roger Smith. He was confident that he could recognize the killer if he caught up fast enough.

The black clad negotiator's foot slipped on something as he went out the door. It was furry and flesh colored. Roger knelt down and picked it up to discover it was a rubber and latex mask, complete with wig. So much for being able to recognize the man holding the sign! He glanced around to see if he could see anyone acting evasive, but the shattered dome let in crowds composed of both rich and poor. Grunting in frustration, Roger reached inside the mask to see if he could find a hair sample. Instead he pulled out a ribbon of surgical gauze.

"Huh?" As Roger attempted to puzzle out this clue he was grabbed from behind by two of Paradigm City's military police officers.

* * *

Francis Erskine was white. His hair was white, his suit was cream colored, and his skin was deathly pale, almost as white as Dorothy's. That made his red tie really stand out. His office was white. The walls were egg white, the carpet was vanilla and the furniture was milk white. It was hard to see Erskine as he sat in his desk in his high-rise office, but Roger Smith stood out like a bull in a china shop. "What are you doing here?" Erskine asked the negotiator.

"Trying to get an appointment with you," Roger smiled smugly. He shifted in his seat, trying to get comfortable. Granted, it was hard while wearing a pair of handcuffs, but at least his hands were cuffed in front of him rather than in back. "Are these really necessary?"

"You tell me," the colorless chairman of the Paradigm Corporation retorted. "You were caught fleeing the scene of Carl Heller's death. He was one of my colleagues and the youngest man to ever be a member of the board."

"I was chasing the assassin," Roger insisted testily. "One bodyguard was electrocuted and the other was tying to help him. There was no way to help Carl Heller short of shutting off the power."

Erskine flipped through a folder that he had on his desk. "According to Colonel Dastun's report, you were at the deaths of Fraiser Owens and Violet Web were you not?"

"You were there too when Fraiser Owens died weren't you?" Roger chided, refusing to leave Erskine's remark unchallenged, "and as for Violet Web, she wanted to hire me."

"What for?" Erskine finally showed some interest in the conversation.

"She wanted me to find out who was murdering Paradigm executives," Roger smiled grimly. "I might have found out if your gorillas hadn't manhandled me. It looks like the killer was wearing a mask…"

"What were you talking to Carl Heller about?" Erskine interrupted him.

"Mr. Erskine, someone is eliminating Paradigm executives, and has now moved on to the members of the board," Roger replied smugly. "This is just like before Big Fau attacked the city. Someone is targeting those who have memories, just like before. Last year, if you recall, someone was murdering elderly and retired executives and senators. Then they moved on to younger people in their twenties before targeting advanced androids. Now once more, someone is targeting Paradigm executives, only this time they're going after the followers of Alex rather than Gordon Rosewater. Now why is that?"

"You shouldn't be so smug," Erskine warned him. "Your rivalry with Alex Rosewater and the world he tried to create is well known."

"'The world he tried to create'?" the negotiator snorted, unable to control himself. "You mean a world where the poor is not only exploited, but eliminated? A world where not even money can buy you freedom? That world? Are you telling me that you still haven't let Rosewater's 'New Order' go? What are you, crazy?"

Erskine cleared his throat, his best apology for bringing up a topic that should never be discussed, not even in private.

"If I wanted to destroy the Paradigm Corporation this isn't how I would do it," Roger continued before he caught himself. The handsome young negotiator was tempted to elaborate exactly how he would bring down Paradigm and take over the city if he wanted to, but it wouldn't do to let Erskine know exactly how easy it would be for Roger to depose him. He suspected that others who had shown such potential disappeared and were never heard from again.

"Wouldn't you now?" Erskine sneered. "This corporation has suffered enough attacks on it already. When the black megadeus attacked Big Fau, it devastated Paradigm Headquarters. We've had repairs going around the clock since then. As a matter of fact, the workmen just finished work on my office just this morning."

"Like the attack on my house didn't inconvenience _me_," Roger countered. "The black megadeus put itself on the line to protect this city and this very building multiple times. The damage to your headquarters was an accident. Besides, Paradigm never seemed to worry about collateral damage before."

"Does piloting Big O give you the right to play God?" Erskine asked him pointblank. So he _did_ know. Roger suspected as much. Now that Alex Rosewater was gone, Erskine had access to all the information that was formerly for Alex's eyes only.

"Of course not," Roger smiled as reasonably as a man in handcuffs could while he is in the office of an accomplice to mass murder, mayhem, kidnapping, assault, conspiracy, and possibly attempted genocide. "These bizarre killings just aren't my style," he quipped as disarmingly he could. "The question is, whose style are they?"

"Can you provide an answer to that question?" Erskine asked.

"Maybe, let's look at the evidence," Roger shrugged. "At the scene of each murder a woman's name was left behind, usually with some obscure symbol. The women's names were foreign, or at least exotic. The murderer might be avenging for a group of female Union agents that were arrested, or might be trying to make us think that anyway."

"So you're blaming this on the Union, are you?" Erskine muttered.

"I didn't say that the Union did this," Roger clarified. "Those names could be red herrings. It could be that some one on the Paradigm board of directors wants to seize power by eliminating his rivals and anyone who knows his deadly little secrets."

Erskine glowered at him. The implication wasn't lost on the current Paradigm chairman. But was he upset by the subtle accusation or the possible betrayal of one of his fellow board members?

"Let's look at the names," Roger suggested. "The military police are using outdated information technology, but Alex Rosewater must have left you something cutting edge, am I right? Who are those women?"

"I'll check the database." On Erskine's desk was a television monitor and what looked like a typewriter keyboard. He grasped a small device, moved it around on his desk and hit a few keys. "Clio, Thalia, Euterpe, and Terpsichore…" Erskine muttered as he typed and clicked.

"Add 'Erato'," Roger suggested.

"Did somebody else die Mister Negotiator?" Erskine asked suspiciously.

"Just playing a hunch," Roger smiled innocently. He couldn't very well mention the attempt on Angel's life.

Roger had to wait as Erskine finished typing in the names. The colorless chairman pushed a button on the round two-button gadget on his desk and looked back at his television screen. "According to this, they are the names of five of the nine muses of classical antiquity."

"Muses?"

Erskine smiled. Or maybe he was just baring his teeth. "It seems that a long time before everyone lost their memories there was a civilization that believed that mankind was inspired by a god of the arts and the nine muses that served him. The names left at the crime scenes are the names of four of the nine muses."

"So possibly there will be nine victims," Roger nodded. "If we knew what the muses stood for we might know how he's going to commit his murders. Who was the first one? 'Clio?'

"She was the muse of history," Erskine informed him.

"And Phil Gasset was killed by being crushed by his book collection," Roger nodded, gaining enthusiasm at a possible lead. "'Thalia'?"

"The muse of comedy," Erskine squinted at the screen.

"Owens was died from laughing too much!" Roger exclaimed. "Violet Web's muse, 'Euterpe', what was she the muse of?"

"Music," Erskine replied. "Specifically, the flute."

"Violet Web was killed by her cigarette holder!" the negotiator snapped his fingers. "It looks kind of like a flute! 'Terpsichore'?"

"The muse of dance," Erskine answered.

"Carl Heller was electrocuted," Roger shuddered. "The floor was wet. There must have been electrical wires under the rug. The poor guy was doing a spastic death-dance! We are dealing with a sick mind!"

"Indeed," Erskine agreed darkly, "and an artistic one. Using the nine muses as a theme is awfully creative… and pretentious."

"What muses are left?" Roger asked.

"Aren't you going to ask me about 'Erato'?" Erskine interrupted him. "You said you were playing a hunch."

"Oh yes," Roger blushed. "'Erato'?"

"The muse of erotic poetry," Erskine again attempted to smile, but his elderly washed out face wasn't really built for it.

"_Erotic_ poetry," Roger nodded. That was why Erato had been chosen for Angel. She had probably used her charms to get information for her masters in the past. Roger had to admit that everything about Angel's physical form was certainly _erotic_ all right. Valentines were sold with symbols of a winged infant armed with a bow and arrow. It explained the heart shaped crossbow bolts fired at the woman who dared call herself _Angel._

"Did somebody we know die in a compromising position?" Erskine asked him.

"Not that I know of," Roger replied a little too quickly. The compromising position that Dorothy placed herself in when she shielded Angel with her body was probably coincidence. If Angel _had_ died while in that pornographic pose, the assassin's head would have swelled to titanic proportions. "So uh… aside of 'Erato', what other muses do we have to watch out for?"

"Alphabetically, they would be Calliope, the muse of epic poetry, Melpomene, the muse of tragedy, Pollyhymnia the muse of religious music and mime, and Urania the muse of astronomy."

"Anything else we should know about these nine muses?" Roger asked.

"They were the nine daughters of Zeus and Mnemosyne," Erskine read off the screen. "Zeus was the ruler of the classical gods."

"And Mnemosyne?"

"The goddess of memory," the chairman said cryptically.

A buzz from an intercom was heard. "Colonel Dastun to see you sir," a shrill but chirpy woman's voice announced.

"Thank you Ms. Oldcastle, let him in," Erskine smiled darkly. "Mister Smith is about ready to leave."

The door opened to and in walked Dan Dastun in a freshly pressed uniform. "Roger Smith," he growled menacingly. "You won't talk yourself out of this one. I got ya, and now I'm going to keep ya!"

"Colonel Dastun, Roger Smith, I assume that you know each other," Erskine rose from his desk to position himself between the two.

"We sure do, Mister Chairman!" Dastun growled. "This spoiled pretty boy thought he could make his own rules when he was under my command and he hasn't changed a bit! He claims to be a seasoned professional but this smart guy thinks he knows better than all of us!" He poked Roger in the sternum with a gloved finger. "Well I got news to you, Mister Negotiator, Paradigm City is protected by the military police, not by some hotshot who thinks he's better! You're up to your eyeballs in it now, Mister! I got you, and I intend to keep you! Mister Chairman, with your permission, I'd like to place this man under arrest."

"Arrest?" Roger rose to his feet indignantly. "What's the charge?"

"Suspicion of murder, obstruction of justice," Dastun smiled menacingly as he seized Roger by the shoulder and pushed him towards the door. "Got any other questions smart guy?"

"Mister Erskine, I'm trying to _solve_ these murders!" Roger implored the new Paradigm chairman as he was shoved out of Erskine's office. "I want to find out who's behind this before the next guy gets it! Can't you order Colonel Dastun to release me?"

"Colonel Dastun, you can release Roger Smith over my dead body," Erskine smirked as he followed them to the door.

When Dastun followed Roger out, a glass pane slid down to cover the doorway. "What?" Francis Erskine frowned before hidden speakers piped choir music into his office. Dark noxious smoke billowed up from under his desk. "Gas!"

"What the hell?" Dastun said as he turned at the sound of the loud 'thunk' the thick transparent glass made when it trapped Erskine. "Mister Erskine!"

"What's that smoke behind him?" Roger asked. "Wait a second, he can't breathe! We've got to get him out of there!"

The glass was completely soundproof. Neither Roger, Dastun, or Veronica Oldcastle, Erskine's private secretary heard the choir music being piped into his office, nor could they hear his choking screams.

"Mister Erskine!" Oldcastle cried in her shrill voice as she jumped up from her desk to join Roger and Dastun at Erskine's door.

"Dastun, get him out of there!" Roger ordered as he attempted to block Oldcastle's view with his body.

"Get away from the door, Erskine!" Dastun shouted as he pulled out his pistol and aimed it at the door. He fired, one, two, three shots, but they didn't penetrate the thick glass pane. "It's some kind of bulletproof glass Roger," he said as he continued to empty his gun. "I can't break it!"

"Get these handcuffs off me, Dastun!" Roger commanded. "I've got a laser hidden in my watch that might get through! It's a long shot but it's the best one we've got!"

"I'm on it!" Dastun said as he fumbled with a ring of keys to produce the master key for the handcuffs. As he freed Roger's wrists Oldcastle stared aghast at her boss pounding on the glass with his bloody fists, screaming at the top of his lungs, without anyone hearing.

Back on Erskine's desk no one could see that the computer monitor was displaying one word: _Polyhymnia._

* * *

On a desk filled with hourglasses a phone rings. Norman's hand picks up the receiver and a sinister voice says:

_Next:_ _Melpomene_


	8. Melpomene

_The Big O__ and all of its settings and characters are owned by Sunrise, Bandai Visual, and Cartoon Network._

THE BIG O:

ACT 29

THE NINE MUSES OF DEATH!

_Chapter Eight:_ _Melpomene_

Dorothy Wayneright walked down the street passing a vacant construction site. She carried a basket filled with food and medical supplies. Since the day Big Fau and the Union decimated Paradigm City, the dainty android had made it part of her routine to deliver food and medical supplies to the elderly retired engineers and their families who lived in the neighborhood.

The skilled and talented greybeards who helped Norman repair and maintain the Big O were far too proud to accept charity, but they would accept 'gifts' like small baskets of necessities. These combined with the stipend that Norman paid them for their services allowed them to live as comfortably anyone could outside the domes these days.

Norman had advised Dorothy to wear her ebony cloak and hood when venturing outside after the 'android crusher' incident that almost claimed her life earlier that year. A degree of anonymity never hurt but the sight of a pretty young girl walking alone might give ruffians ideas. Dorothy thought the morbid cloak would make it appear that someone died, but had long ago learned to accept the somber dress code that dominated the Smith mansion.

She would have appreciated the need for anonymity had she noticed the electromagnet on a nearby crane move in her direction.

* * *

"That is the second Paradigm board member who has been assassinated in one day," R Fredrick O'Reilly said calmly when Dastun and Roger had returned to Military Police Headquarters. "What are you going to do now?"

"Wave my magic wand and pull the killer out of my butt," Dastun quipped. It was better than losing control and telling the robot to go to hell. After Erskine's death, Dastun had acquired the eerie calm of a condemned man who has come to terms with his impending doom. "Tell you what, though. I don't suppose you could cough up some confidential files?"

"Excuse me?" the android special investigator from the home office asked.

"Look, we're working in the dark," Dastun explained. "Back at Paradigm HQ there's restricted information that could tell us who's behind this. It would take a while to analyze but the information is there. Why don't you find some files that can be declassified for us, what do you say?"

O'Reilly remained still. Since his face looked like a gas mask it was difficult to gauge his reaction.

"Fine," Dastun growled. "Don't come cryin' to me when the next big shot gets taken out."

"Why do you even keep him around, Dastun?" Roger grumbled.

"Why not?" Dastun shrugged. "It's not like I gotta choice, and besides, anything he sees and hears is recorded for the suits at Paradigm HQ. Until it's my turn to drop dead with a woman's name next to me I think I'm going to need an alibi, don't you?"

"Did you find a woman's name this time?" Roger asked.

"On the computer monitor," Dastun replied. "The name was 'Pollyhymnia', that's the muse of religious music. There was choir music playing on a continuous loop when we broke in there."

"Religious music and mime," Roger added. "We couldn't hear Francis Erskine through the soundproof glass, we could only watch his performance."

"Whoever is behind this has a sick mind," Dastun nodded, "and thinks he's some kind of an artist. Know anybody like that?"

"I can't say I do," Roger sighed. "Did you find out what kind of gas it was that killed Erskine?"

"Simple carbon monoxide," Dastun explained. "He died of asphyxiation." He glared at R Fredrick O'Reilly. "Where were _you_ ya worthless hunk a' tin? We could have used you up there! You might have been able use your arm as a piledriver or something!"

"I'm… sorry Colonel Dastun," O' Reilly's head dipped slightly downwards. "It won't happen again. I'll be there when you need me next time."

"So what is the board going to do now?" Roger asked.

"Gregory Stoker is going to give a speech tomorrow," Dastun sighed. "He's letting the people know that Paradigm is still in charge. I've always said, 'it's a mystery the way a politician's mind works'…"

"And he's going to announce his appointment as chairman no doubt," Roger muttered darkly. "With Erskine gone, he's the top dog now."

"It looks like he could be our man," Dastun looked away.

"You don't really believe that," Roger shook his head. "If the pattern holds, there are still three more muses to go!"

"Three?" Dastun asked suspiciously.

"Four," Roger corrected himself. He couldn't very well mention the attempt on Angel's life, especially with R Fredrick O'Reilly present. Angel. Could she hold the key to this? Roger yawned and stretched. "Is it okay if I go home?"

"What? You don't want to be here when it's my turn?" Dastun grumbled.

"So far the targets have been those who know too much," Roger smiled. "Your request to O'Reilly there would indicate that you don't qualify. I'm sorry, Dan, but it looks like you're going to live another day. Can I go?"

"Home," Dastun growled. "I'm going to have a car follow you. If you go anywhere else, I'll hold you as a material witness."

"Thanks Dan, I owe you one," Roger smiled.

"Is it wise to let they key witness to four of the 'Nine Muse' murders loose like that?" O'Reilly asked the colonel.

"It's no dumber than keeping him here," Dastun shrugged.

* * *

Underneath the streets of Paradigm, R Dorothy Wayneright was strapped to a table, her unseeing eyes gazing up the ceiling. A bandaged hand hit a hidden stud on the edge of her barrette to open the hidden drive tray underneath. Hands wrapped in surgical gauze placed a clunky yellow tiara-style apparatus onto her drive tray. "Now to see if the equipment we bought from that fool Beck is worth the money we paid…" the bandaged man muttered under his breath as the tray closed. Sitting at a desk he typed and clicked on a computer.

From on the table, Dorothy opened her mouth and said, "Test-test-testing one two three. The qui-qui-quick brown fox jumped over the lazy dogs."

"Excellent," the bandaged man cackled sinisterly. "Time to get you home before you're missed my little puppet."

* * *

At the white tower known as the Smith Mansion, Roger removed his tie as he walked into the parlor to pour himself a drink.

"Welcome home, sir," Norman greeted as Roger handed him his tie. "I hope your investigation into these perplexing events have been fruitful."

"Yes and no Norman," the negotiator shrugged as he undid his collar. "At least we have a peek into the twisted mind behind all this. Is the east tunnel still open?" He took a swallow from the tumbler and corked the bottle of brandy on the end table.

"I believe it is sir," Norman nodded, "but I don't know how structurally sound it is. It's a miracle that its not blocked after all the ruckus that happened in the last few months."

"Good, I may have to go down to the Speakeasy to talk to Big Ear," Roger removed his jacket and handed it to his butler. "Dastun has a man watching the front and I may need to sneak out the back way."

"Colonel Dastun has a man watching you, sir?" Norman asked.

"Yeah," Roger scratched the back of his neck ruefully. "After being present at three of the boardmembers' deaths I'm up to my eyeballs in it. You should have seen the performance he gave in Erskine's office. I don't know whether I'm under house arrest or if he just wants me to have an alibi when the next one gets murdered."

"Oh my," the butler sighed. "I suppose that's another reason we should keep Miss Angel away from the windows."

"You got that right," Roger smiled grimly. "Speaking of Angel, is she ready to receive visitors yet?"

"Yes and no sir," Norman shrugged. "Miss Angel appears to be improving medically speaking, but her emotional state is so erratic that it's hard to tell. I suppose you could see for yourself."

"Is she still uh… crying?" Roger asked uncomfortably.

"I'm afraid so sir," the butler replied ruefully. "All attempts to comfort her just seem to upset her more. If I didn't know better I'd think that she was feeling guilty for something. For now Miss Dorothy and I are letting her be."

"Great," Roger grumbled. "Getting answers out of her will be like opening a clam. Still, I've got to try. Last night she sounded like she knew who was behind this. I've got to ask her before I go out and bother Big Ear."

* * *

Downstairs, R Dorothy Wayenight walked in the front door, clad in her black cloak and carrying a basket. She strode through the mansion, her gait stiff and unnatural…

* * *

When Roger went to check on Angel the blonde bombshell was wearing her little black dress. She looked tired, as if getting dressed had exhausted her. She still had her bandages wrapped around her head like a white bandana. Her tearstained cheeks were evidence that she had been crying, just as Norman had warned him.

"Going somewhere?" Roger asked, startling the girl. He had changed into a fresh blazer and tie, but appeared to be in the same black suit he was wearing earlier. "I thought you needed a place to hide or something."

"Roger!" Angel stammered guiltily. "What are you doing here?"

"I'm sorry Angel I live here," he quipped. "I was bound to come home sooner or later. Now out with it. Just who are you hiding from?"

"I… I don't know," Angel clasped her hands guiltily and looked away. "I don't remember." Tears trickled down her cheeks once more. It was a good thing she spent the night with an IV drip in her arm or she would be dehydrated.

"Sorry but that isn't going to fly," Roger shook his head. "In this town it's not hard to fake amnesia. Last night you knew exactly who had it out for you. It's the same person who's been murdering the Paradigm executives. I'm on the hot seat. I'm hiding a wanted fugitive and I'm a suspect in these murders. I'm sticking my neck out for you, Angel. You can't let me swing in the breeze like this. Come on, you've got to give me something."

"You'll never forgive me!" Angel turned away and she covered her face with her hands. "If you knew just how many lies I had to tell you… You'd never trust me again!"

Roger had to bite his tongue to avoid saying 'What makes you think I trust you now?' After his visit to both Paradigm and Military Police Headquarters, he was still too confrontational to give Angel the care and understanding she needed. The poor girl had been through hell. In her mind she still wasn't safe, she was still on the run. It looked like she had been preparing to bolt when Roger walked in. She needed someone she could count on, but how could she trust anybody when she didn't have faith in herself? He put his hand on his chin while trying to figure out an appropriate response.

Angel gasped as she felt Roger's gloved hands grasp her shoulders.

"Hey… You may not forgive yourself, but you still trust me don't you?" he purred in her ear. "You know all of my dirty secrets, even the ones that I don't know myself. You know I won't abandon you. But I can't protect you being on the defensive like this. I have to know who's doing this. Just tell me as much as you can, all right? I don't have to know the whole thing, not right now. I just need to know what I'm up against. Please, I can't protect you if you don't level with me. Now, who is after you?"

Angel turned and clasped Roger's hands in hers. "Oh Roger, they made me lie to you, they made me! I thought I was doing the right thing! They wanted all of the memories for themselves and I helped them do it! Then they caught him and made him give up the memories he had collected! And now he's free and he won't stop until I'm dead!"

"Who's free?" Roger asked. "Who wants you dead?"

"I'm so ashamed… I can hardly force myself to tell you… that it's… it's… _Dorothy_!" Angel's last world was a yelp as she jumped back.

"Huh? Dorothy?" Roger blinked before he turned to follow Angel's line of sight. There in the doorway, still wearing her cloak and carrying her basket was R Dorothy Wayneright, her ivory hand pointing a .32 automatic pistol at them. It was Red Destiny all over again. "Dorothy!" Roger choked. "Put down that gun! What are you doing?"

"Rah-Rah-Roger. You. Don't-don't-don't. L-love. M-me," Dorothy stuttered strangely, shuddering and twitching as she struggled to speak. "You could nev-nev-nev-never love me," her entire body vibrated as she stuttered, and the volume of her voice seemed to jump up and down. "Be-be-be-because of me, you will not look for the truth. I am an illusion. I am not real. I am holding you b-back. I m-must free you from this false love that k-keeps you a prisoner. That makes you a puppet. Good. Bye, Rah-Rah-RAH…jer. I. Love. Y-you." With glazed and unfocused eyes, Dorothy fired the pistol.

"Augh!" Roger instinctively protected Angel with his body. A bullet creased his arm as he hugged the blonde to push her away. "Dorothy! Why?"

The android placed the smoking gun in her basket. "Oh… N-no…" she said stiffly as she turned to walk away. "What… have-have-have I done? I… have… sh-shot the man that I love… My reason for living… I can't go… on…"

Roger clutched his arm. "What has gotten _in_to her?" he growled. "She's acting as if she's…" His eyes widened in revelation. "…under a spell or something! Somebody has got control of her!" Forgetting his wound he dashed out of the room to follow her.

"Dorothy!" He was too late; he emerged into the hall just as the door to the elevator closed and the car began to rise. "Dorothy!" She was going up. Up to the roof. Roger took the stairs two at a time.

He ran out onto the rooftop patio in time to see Dorothy walk out to the wall that separated the patio from a fall to the streets below. "Dorothy!" he shouted. "Come back here!"

Dorothy stopped to remove her cloak. She turned it inside out to reveal a word stitched in white and a red and white cloth tragedy mask sown onto the back. As she was placing the cape around her shoulders Roger could make out the word: _Melpomene._

"No!" he gasped softly. "_I'm_ not the intended victim… Dorothy is! Dorothy! Don't do it!" he shouted as he ran over and grappled her. Up close, he could see a yellow crown of circuits, bolts and wires covering her barrette. "Wait a minute! That's—! Ah!"

The bewitched android seized his wrist and twisted it to get him to release her. Roger cried out in pain as her viselike grip turned his body to jelly. As he fell to his knees, Dorothy climbed up on the wall and let the wind blow through her cloak. "Good. Bye-bye-bye-bye cruel world." She pulled the pistol out of her basket and placed it against her temple. "I'm c-coming Roger," she said softly. "Wait-wait-wait for me," she stuttered.

"Dorothy!" Roger rose to his feet and used both hands to yank the tiara-like device off her head. "Snap out of it!" The golden tiara tore free and he staggered backwards with his electronic prize.

"Oh!" Dorothy's body shuddered as her drive tray opened and closed. She dropped the gun and spread her arms wide as if she was trying to maintain her balance. She bent backwards gazing up at the sky as if in a swoon with her arms outstretched.

To Roger's vision it all seemed to be happening in slow motion. "No!"

The android seemed to be in a faint and fell backwards over the side of the mansion. Roger dove over the wall to see Dorothy's shocked expression as her wide spreading arms made her body into a letter 'T', her dark cloak becoming ineffectual wings as she fell to the street below…

* * *

On a desk filled with hourglasses a phone rings. Norman's hand picks up the receiver and a sinister voice says:

_Next:_ _Calliope_


	9. Calliope

_The Big O and all of its settings and characters are owned by Bandai Visual, Sunrise, and Cartoon Network._

THE BIG O:

ACT 29

THE NINE MUSES OF DEATH!

_Chapter Nine: Calliope_

When Dorothy toppled over the side of the building Roger didn't hesitate to dive after her. The girlish android was lying backwards spread-eagle on empty air, the fabric of her black cloak forming ebony wings that were useless on a metal and plastic two-hundred-and-eighty-pound girl. In Roger's stress-distorted vision, her plummet to her doom seemed as if she was gently floating down to Earth.

Her face conveyed shock; eyes wide open but unseeing, mouth agape as if in horror or ecstasy, her youthful countenance conveying vulnerability. She flinched as her drive tray closed and her eyes adjusted, her android brain coming back online. Puzzlement. What's going on? Recognition. They were falling and were going to die. Yet, at the same time, in that millisecond that she realized the gravity of their situation, her mysterious artificial eyes seemed to convey… wonder. Even gratitude.

Roger had forced his body vertical into a perfect headfirst dive after her, his hands extended towards the falling android. He hoped he had less wind resistance in order to reach her before they hit the ground. Thankfully, Dorothy didn't have much of a head start in front of him. Only a foot or two separated them, but in those fatal seconds it might as well have been a mile.

Dorothy's actions seemed painfully slow but in reality must occurred at breathtaking speed. As if in a last romantic gesture, she reached out to clasp his hand. Roger pulled her close to his body while hitting the stud on his watch to pneumatically fire a slender cable and grappling hook from his wrist and wrap it around a pillar on his rooftop patio. As the line spooled out, he wrapped his arms around the slender Dorothy and hoped that his arm wouldn't be pulled loose by the sudden stop.

When the line went taunt, he was pleasantly surprised to find Dorothy's dainty hand clutching the cable attached to his wrist in order to take some of the weight off his arm. The two swung to the side of the building. In perfect synchronization, they crouched when their feet landed on the side of Roger's home before they pushed off to leap back into the sky.

Together they were soaring up, up, back the way they came, clasped in each other's arms. Roger hit a stud on his watch to retract the line, giving them less slack as they seemed to float up the white tower that was Roger's home. Finally they cleared the balcony wall, the retracting line pulling them up and over the rooftop patio that topped his house. Only then did they separate, each spinning in an acrobatic somersault before landing in a crouch on the patio. They were as coordinated as a pair of dancers.

Roger let out a breath he had been holding as he rose to his feet. He heard Dorothy Wayneright's dainty footsteps approach him.

The girlish android seemed hesitant. "Roger, you… jumped after me."

"I sure did!" he remarked as he rubbed the back of his neck and stretched.

"No. Roger…" Dorothy's slender form trembled as if she was a flesh and blood woman who had just had a near death experience. "Do you remember? Do you remember when Beck installed RD's memory drive in me? I said that I was going to jump off the roof to keep myself from killing you. Do you remember what you said that evening?"

Roger smiled gently. "That's right. I said I'd jump after you."

"And you _did_ jump after me," Dorothy continued, her stoic monotone expressing both shellshock and admiration. "I didn't believe you. I thought you were just saying that to keep me from jumping."

"Well I _am_ a man of my word," Roger grasped the lapels of his jacket arrogantly, allowing himself to bask in his victory.

"That night," Dorothy neutral expression still seemed to convey awe. "That night you told me the truth. Afterwards I thought you were just saying those things to save my life."

"Have I ever led you astray?" Roger smiled smugly. "You know that I'd never lie to you, R Dorothy Wayneright. Not on purpose."

"That was the night that you said you loved me," Dorothy continued.

Roger staggered backwards as his knees chose that moment to fail him. Maybe the adrenaline was wearing off. Maybe it was exhaustion after putting one hundred and ten percent of his energy into running up several flights of stairs and jumping over the side of a building to save the android girl that had become such an important part of his life. Maybe it was because right before he did that a bullet had creased his arm and he hadn't bothered to staunch the bleeding. That would explain why he was clutching his arm. That would explain why he felt so dizzy. That would explain why Dorothy's voice was getting further away and the whole world was going black.

* * *

"Is Roger all right?" Angel whispered as she tiptoed into Roger's bedroom. The negotiator was resting peacefully in his bed and Dorothy was sitting in a chair watching him. "Did he actually pass out?"

"Yes," Dorothy replied from her chair by Roger's bed. "Norman doesn't understand it. The wound wasn't that serious. The bullet merely cut the skin. His muscle tissue was undamaged." Was the android feeling guilty? She _did _fire a .32 round at him after all. "Perhaps it is simply blood loss. Roger had been engaged in strenuous activity without bothering to stop the bleeding. If that's the case he simply needs to rest and stop exerting himself."

"You sound like you think there's something more," Angel said knowingly.

"Yes there is," Dorothy replied. "Roger has been looking for you. He's been making discreet inquiries for the last two months. He needs to know something."

"What?" the blonde asked her.

"He didn't tell me," the redheaded android replied, "but I can guess. It has been troubling him for some time now. He wants to know who he really is. Why he is permitted to pilot Big O. What really happened to Paradigm City, both last time and forty years ago. He thinks that you know."

Angel's confidence vanished and she seemed to collapse in the doorway. "Oh please!" she begged as her voice cracked. "Don't ask me that! Please don't ask me that! He must never know! Nobody must know! It would kill him!"

"Then I promise I won't ask," Dorothy said calmly. With an android it was sometimes that easy.

Angel staggered forward and knelt to grasp Dorothy's shoulders and look her in the eye. "Look Dorothy, if I stay he'll try to get me to tell him and I can't!" the beleaguered blonde whispered tersely. "I just can't! It would destroy him! Hell, it destroyed me! I'm not going to take him with me. Too many people are depending on him!"

"What about you?" Why did Dorothy ask her that? Did the android actually care what happened to Angel? "Aren't people depending on you as well?"

"Not anymore," Angel sighed. "No one is depending on me anymore. There is no way I can help, but I can really make things worse! Much worse. I could destroy the world if I wanted to. I'm even more dangerous than Alex Rosewater was."

Dorothy fixed Angel with a penetrating look but said nothing. Apparently some outbursts could even render an android speechless.

"Look Dorothy, I need a favor from you," Angel paused to giggle miserably. "Hell this is one favor you'll be chomping at the bit to help me with," she sighed. "I need you to help Roger forget about me. He used to say that with me it was nothing but trouble. Neither one of us knew how right he was! If you care about Roger, if you love him, you must make sure that he never gets the answers he wants from me! Trust me; there are things that man was not meant to know! You've got to make him forget about me. Make him stop looking! Use your feminine charms, keep him busy, but whatever you do make sure that he doesn't find me! I… I'm not strong enough not to tell him what he wants to know. I've got to leave. Tell him thank you when he wakes up."

"What will you do?" Dorothy asked her.

"Go back into hiding I guess," Angel sighed. "Find out who else knows. Try to muster the courage to blow my brains out. I don't know."

"Sacrificing your life is courageous," Dorothy corrected. "Taking your life to escape is not. Committing suicide is both lazy and cowardly. It is too easy."

"I can't live with what I know!" Angel cried as she clutched the sides of her head. "You don't understand! I just can't!"

"Over forty years ago everyone lost their memories," Dorothy suggested. "If you know how, perhaps you could use that knowledge to your advantage."

Angel giggled. "Never say die, huh Dorothy?"

"I am the recreation of Doctor Wayneright's dead daughter," the android girl informed her. "I am a mechanical ghost. I am literally the walking dead. Don't be in such a hurry to die, Angel. Speaking from experience, I can tell you that being dead is highly overrated."

* * *

Dorothy stayed by Roger's bed until he woke up.

He opened his eyes to see R Dorothy gazing at him. "No piano?" he snorted.

"If that is a compliant, I promise to wake you up with music everyday," she retorted coolly.

"That won't be necessary," Roger smiled as he sat up. "I'd rather see your pretty face than hear that same dreadful tune every morning."

"Roger Smith," she gently scolded. "Are you flirting with me?"

"Huh?" the negotiator grunted as he yawned and stretched. "Trying to make me faint again? Why don't you ask me to marry you while you're at it? It would put me out for a week." He paused to examine the bandages on his arm. "I see that Norman did a good job…"

"Angel has left," Dorothy announced.

"What?" Roger was fully awake now. "That crazy kid! How am I supposed to protect her if she runs off like that? Worse yet, she took off before she told me the name of the mastermind behind these bizarre murders. Now how am I supposed to find out before the next one dies?"

Dorothy's next words seized his undivided attention. "I know who the mastermind is," she said.

"You do?" he breathed softly. "You know who is doing this?"

"I know who programmed me to shoot you and then commit suicide," she continued. "Angel told us he died, but neither one of us saw his body."

* * *

The next morning, in a park in one of the few domes that had escaped the devastation of the attack the newspapers dubbed 'The War of Paradigm City' a stage had been set up and rows of folding chairs had turned the park into an auditorium. Gregory Stoker, a tall stout, coffee colored man who wore sunglasses and a neatly trimmed goatee, got out of his limousine and approached the podium.

The crowd, seated in front of the cordoned off makeshift stage quieted as he reached the microphone.

"What the hell are _you_ doing here?" Dastun growled as Roger boldly crossed the roped off barrier to join him.

"If anything happens, I want to be right here where you can see me," Roger winked. "That way I have an alibi."

"Great," the grizzled cop groaned. "There goes my _own_ alibi…"

"Hello Mister Smith," the android inspector from the home office greeted.

"Hello Mister O'Reilly," Roger smiled back. "Lovely day for a speech isn't it?"

No one in the crowd could see Gregory Stoker open a panel in the podium to activate a large spooled tape recorder. He positioned the microphone up to his face but disconnected it. None-the-less Stoker's rich, deep voice could be heard from speakers all over the park.

"Citizens of Paradigm City, I would like apologize for the appalling leadership my corporation has shown in the past and I promise that things will be different under my tenure," the speakers rumbled in a stiff, almost apologetic voice. "For too long has the secrets of Paradigm City been hoarded by my company. The memories of both the past and present have been hidden and denied you your future.

"But that will change now that I am chairman," Stoker's voice rumbled. "Now that I have taken over I can tell you exactly what you never got a chance to hear. To wit: The crimes of Alex Rosewater and the treachery of his subordinates.

"Gordon Rosewater and his kind are no doubt responsible for the world we have today," he said to the shocked and silent crowd before him. "In order to seize power and make the rich get richer it was necessary to make the poor get poorer. I still don't know how he did it, but I promise you that I shall find out."

"Oh God," Dastun moaned, "He's going to start a riot."

"Wait a second…" Roger narrowed his eyes suspiciously.

Stoker's voice continued, but sounded slightly disoriented. "He kept his secrets even from his son Alex, who succeeded him as the ruler of Paradigm. Alex had to know so he could erase his father's legacy and create his own. To this effect he collected all of the evidence from the world before and hoarded it for himself. He tricked the subversives known as the Union into eliminating his father's supporters so that he could replace them with his own."

"Continue," a muffled voice in the background could be heard over the speakers. "Keep going."

"Rather than use his father's secrets for a constructive purpose, Alex Rosewater pieced together enough to repeat his father's sins," Stoker's deep unfocused voice continued. "His board of directors supported him whole-heartedly. Even after his treachery was exposed they still couldn't give him up. But after he died…"

"Go on!" A man's rough voice barked over the speakers.

"After he died the board turned on each other," Stoker's shaky voice continued. "I found a pawn who knew the city's secrets better than anyone and had the ability to eliminate my rivals. All I had to do was give him what he needed to get past our security. I gave him everything, my rival's habits, their security precautions, everything. I even hired his men as contractors for repairs on Paradigm HQ. He's got quite a following… of society's fallen and dispossessed… the trodden down… that we have crushed under our heel while we have rewarded our lapdogs…"

The second voice cut in enthusiastically. "And now, my friends we stand today poised on a new tomorrow! We shall wrest the secrets of the past from these dogs in order to forge for ourselves a future! But we won't do it by cooperating with these Paradigm fools! They only want to hide the truth so that their crimes won't be exposed to us all! But we know the truth don't we? Join me, and we shall seize the secrets of the Paradigm Corporation for ourselves! The truth shouldn't be hoarded like treasure in a vault! It must be there for all of us to see! Otherwise how can we be more than mere puppets? How can we be otherwise, when they won't give us the information we need to think for ourselves?"

"That voice!" Roger growled. "It can't be… Dorothy was right!"

"Stoker!" Dastun shouted as he and R Fredrick O'Reilly climbed on the stage. "What is the meaning of this? Who is that other voice?"

"I'm sorry," Stoker said in the second voice as he pulled his own face off. "Gregory Stoker isn't here right now. He's tied up at the moment!"

Stoker's oversized business suit was specially made to tear off and the imposter easily tore it away to reveal different clothes underneath, a strange heavy metal backpack and a hideously bandaged face. The bandages were wrapped around his head and formed a cone…

"Wait a minute!" Dastun cried. "I know you! You piloted the red megadeus! You call yourself…"

"Schwartzwald!" Roger cried as he jogged onto the stage to confront the killer. "It's true! You're not dead!"

"Goodbye, Paradigm lapdogs," Schwartzwald laughed as two metal arms ending in levers pivoted out of his backpack to reach his hands. "Give my regards to oblivion! It's the only reward for mindless lackeys like you!" Flames erupted out of his metal backpack and the bandaged gargoyle soared up into the sky. Inside the tattered remains of his Gregory Stoker disguise was a sign displaying the word: _Calliope_.

"Dastun!" Roger shouted. "Jump!"

The podium vanished as an explosion blinded the crowd.

* * *

On a desk filled with hourglasses a phone rings. Norman's hand picks up the receiver and a sinister voice says:

Next: _Urania_


	10. Urania

_The Big O and all of its settings and characters are owned by Cartoon Network, Sunrise, and Bandai Visual._

THE BIG O:

ACT 29

THE NINE MUSES OF DEATH!

_Chapter Ten:_ _Urania_

Roger hit the ground and covered the back of his neck with his hands as the podium exploded. He felt something on his back and discovered it was the metal arm of R Fredrick O'Reilly. When Roger gave his warning, the android inspector jumped off the stage and pushed Roger and Dastun before him, insuring that they would be the first to get to safety. Now the android was lying on the ground with one hand on each human's back.

"Are you two all right?" O'Reilly asked in that damnably calm voice of his.

"Y-yeah," Colonel Dastun said as he rose shakily to his feet. "Thanks, Freddie. I owe you one."

"I'll live," Roger grunted as he looked up in the sky. What was that on Schwartzwald's back? A rocket pack? That thing could probably only hold enough fuel for short hops. That explained the bomb in the podium. He would need a distraction if he wanted to get away. "Schwartzwald," the negotiator muttered as he dusted himself off and jogged away into the confused mob of spectators.

"I am pleased that you're okay Colonel," O'Reilly said in his calm quiet voice. The android bent over to pick up his hat but when he stood up his head was still tilted towards the ground. "Still it does not change the fact that I have failed. I was created to follow orders. To carry out missions. I have failed in my mission. The top heads of the Paradigm Corporation are dead."

"You don't know that!" Dastun protested. "Gregory Stoker might still be alive! Even if he isn't, we can still bring his murders to justice."

"And how do you suggest we do that?" Like Dorothy, O'Reilly could make his calm monotone convey skepticism. "We haven't been able to so far."

"That's because we never had a solid lead before!" the colonel growled. "We know who's behind it and we know whose checkbook has been financing it!" He gestured to one of the military police officers who had descended on the chaos and were trying to make sense of things and calm the crowd. "Johnson! Get me my car! You're in charge here now! In the meantime, I'm going to take O'Reilly for ride! We're going to catch a killer!"

"Yes, Colonel," the young officer saluted. "Good hunting sir!"

* * *

As Dastun's car sped away O'Reilly glanced in the rearview mirror. "We're being followed by a long black sedan," the android said.

Dastun adjusted the mirror. "That's just Roger's car," the hardened cop told him. "He's just following us out so he can avoid having to stick around and give a statement. See? What did I tell you? He's veered off already. He must have a lead too. That's okay. I've got my own source of information!"

"And what source of information is that?" the android asked him.

"You," Dastun grunted in triumph. "You and the Paradigm Corporation's records. That recording of Stoker's voice indicated that Stoker was in on this up to his neck. He probably bankrolled the whole thing figuring that he could blame Schwartzwald for it when the dust settled. I'll bet the arrogant bastard never figured that bandaged freak would turn the tables on him! Serves him right if he's at the bottom of the ocean right now!"

"You realize that Stoker's confession was undoubtedly delivered under duress," O'Reilly pointed out. "I wouldn't be surprised if he was drugged or forced to read from a script at gunpoint. His verbal confession hardly qualifies as legal evidence."

"Let's just find him first," Dastun said as he turned to follow a detour.

"I can't reveal confidential information belonging to the Paradigm Corporation," O'Reilly protested. "You know very well that even if I was able to get the information, I couldn't release it to you."

"Yes you can you stupid hunk of tin, because you exist to carry out missions," Dastun growled in triumph. "I'll bet money your mission was to make sure the killer was caught before the all of the board members died and if you want a prayer at doing that you'll get us access to those records!"

The android was quiet as the police car threaded its way through the ruined streets of the city, then he finally spoke. "It seems your logic is inescapable, Colonel Dastun. I have no choice but to comply."

"That's what I figured," the grizzled cop smiled.

* * *

As Dastun maneuvered his car through the ruined streets towards Paradigm Headquarters, Roger was travelling to the working class bar known as the Speakeasy. When he got there, he parked in front and activated the car's armor, then walked right in. The bartender handed him a bottle of beer and the negotiator took a seat next to an old man reading the newspaper.

"Negotiator," the informant Roger called 'Big Ear' nodded without looking up from his newspaper. "Haven't seen you around here recently."

"I've been busy," Roger grunted as he took a swig of his beer. "Personal business. What I'm interested in now is Schwartzwald."

"I caught the speech," Big Ear nodded to a small black and white television in the corner. "It was explosive."

"Ha. Ha," Roger said dryly. "I didn't come listen to your rapier wit. I need information on him. What the hell is he doing still alive?"

"Who said he was dead?" the old man turned a page in his newspaper.

"Someone who lied to me apparently," Roger admitted. "Okay. So what do you have on Schwartzwald?"

"Rumor has it that he used to go by the name of Michael Seebach in the good old days when he had a face," Big Ear shrugged. "He was a reporter who worked for Paradigm Press. A real muckraker. Got the scoop no matter what the cost. Wouldn't listen to threats or let himself be bought. You would have liked him. He used to hang around here and ask me questions."

That came as no surprise, but Roger didn't like the comparisons being made between himself and a man who had lost his mind.

Big Ear continued as if he was discussing the weather. "It was strange. He had a life. Normally a man with something to lose doesn't make waves, but Seebach wasn't the type to let sleeping dogs lie. He was kind of like _you_ in many ways. He was too smart for his own good, but not smart enough to listen to an old man who knows better and stop poking around where he's not wanted. The thing that makes me think that Seebach is Schwartzwald is that he _also_ wanted to know what happened over forty years ago…"

The old man paused as if he intended to rephrase that statement. "No. 'Wanted' isn't the right word. He _had_ to know. Had to. Wouldn't take no for an answer. I told him the same thing I tell you. It doesn't matter what you find out. The sun will never shine again on this corrupt city of ours. It doesn't matter what you do. He didn't listen. When it came to listening he made it seem like you're wearing a hearing aid by comparison."

"So what happened?" Roger asked. "What made him decide to abandon the identity of Michael Seebach and name himself after a mythical forest?"

"Some people say our intrepid reporter went crazy trying to find out what happened," Big Ear told him, "but I say that's wishful thinking. Personally I think he found the answers he was looking for, but couldn't take it."

"What?" gasped the startled negotiator.

"Lots people experience frustration," the old man shrugged. "Michael Seebach was a reporter. No matter how good he was or how fanatical his devotion he was bound to hit brick walls. It happens to everybody. When someone as devoted to his goal as Seebach hits a wall, he gets up, brushes himself off, and tries again from a different angle. He doesn't lose his mind and erase his identity just because he's been stonewalled. No. The only explanation that fits is that he succeeded. He succeeded beyond his wildest dreams, and that success destroyed him."

"That doesn't make any sense!" Roger shouted, before he abruptly lowered his voice to a harsh whisper. "Every time I've encountered Schwartzwald he's always been looking for the truth! When he isn't babbling about the power of a megadeus he's trying to solve the mystery that is Paradigm City."

"You've been talking to a ghost," Big Ear told him. "A ghost made of flesh and blood instead of vapor and spirit. The man you know as 'Schwartzwald' is just going through the motions, following in Michael Seebach's footsteps. I've read his manifesto that he littered the streets with a few months back. It's filled with empty rhetoric and generalities. He wastes paper without really saying anything. You should read some of his earlier work, Roger. When he was Michael Seebach, he wrote some real thought-provoking stuff."

"_I have_ thank you," Roger said absently. The night he first went looking for Seebach, Roger broke into the apartment the reporter used as his base of operations and spent an hour reading his notes. He would have been there in the morning if Schwartzwald hadn't set fire to the place. It was the information contained in those notes that made Roger explore the tunnels under the city in the first place. Looking back, he kicked himself for not expecting to find Schwartzwald down there. If you follow in the footsteps of a madman, you run the risk of encountering that madman. That is if you don't go mad yourself.

"Then you know what I mean," Big Ear's deep voice rumbled. "Take the advice of an old man Roger. Don't go looking for knowledge that man was not meant to know. The last people who did that blew up half the city."

"Let's start with knowledge that a man is _paying_ to know," Roger huffed. "What is he up to now?"

"I've had my ear to the ground for some time now," Big Ear replied smugly. "Rumor has it that a burn victim has become a symbol for a rebellion against Paradigm. He calls himself 'Schwartzwald', and he's been recruiting. His followers consist of a few Paradigm employees who became disgusted with the company and a handful of Union agents who are stuck behind the lines, but the majority of his followers are the people who were left homeless after the Union's attack. He promises to destroy the company and reveal the truth they've been hiding. By now he must be a happy little maniac."

"I've pieced together most of that all ready," Roger interrupted. "Got anything I can use? Like his location?"

"That shouldn't be a problem," Big Ear sounded grimly amused. "He was in here just a few minutes ago trying to get me to join him. I told him I'd think about it. Before he left he told me to that if I ever saw you to tell where you could find him. Apparently he wants to talk to you."

"What?" Roger growled. "You knew where I could find him the whole time? Why didn't you just tell me?"

"I hoped that you would listen to me and change your mind about meeting him, Roger," the old man shrugged. "At my age, it's hard to find new friends. I hate to lose you."

"Never mind the mushy stuff!" the negotiator snarled. "Now where is he?"

"Remember the apartment he used when he was Michael Seebach?" Big Ear asked him. "That's where you'll find him."

"Thanks," Roger got up and tossed a stack of twenty dollar bills on the table.

"You know someday you're actually going to listen to what I have to tell you," the old man grumbled with fatherly concern as he covered the money with his newspaper. He raised his glass in a silent toast as Roger left.

* * *

The apartment where Michael Seebach had transcribed his notes had been gutted by fire last year. That was before the damage the building took from the Union's aerial assault. A sign in front indicated the place was going to be condemned. Roger wasn't in the apartment. He was on the roof of the building looking at the roof across the street where Schwartzwald stood the night they met. "All right, I'm here!" Roger shouted. "Come out now!"

"Hello again, Paradigm dog," the bandaged murderer spat as he stepped out of the shadows. "Still blindly following the will of your masters?"

"Nope," Roger assured him. "This time it's strictly personal. Where do you get off sending Dorothy Wayneright to kill me?"

"You fool! I didn't send that silly android to kill you," Schwartzwald corrected. "I sent it to _die_! Shouldn't that be obvious by now?"

"Why?" Roger barked. "What do you have against her?"

"That windup doll is the symbol of everything that's wrong with this city," the bandaged gargoyle explained. "It is the symbol of everything that is wrong with _you_! You really _are _in love with it aren't you? That lifeless hunk of tin that masquerades as a human being! You make me sick, you pathetic lapdog! You'd rather embrace an illusion than pursue what is real! You're just like everybody else in this depraved city!"

"Why did you shoot Angel?" Roger interrupted before the deranged reporter worked himself into a homicidal frenzy. "She doesn't work for Paradigm! She's probably got a price on her head these days!"

"She betrayed me," Schwartzwald hissed, "and right when I was trying to warn the city about the leviathan that was coming. Oh don't look so surprised! You aren't the first one to be taken in by that pretty face. We used to share information before her masters decided they wanted it all!"

That made sense. It explained how Angel knew where to find Schwartzwald at the masquerade ball that heralded the first appearance of Big Duo. It was Angel who told him that Schwartzwald had died, even though the city had just been littered with the flyers he had printed. She was probably following orders from her superiors in the Union at the time. That's what she was babbling about when Dorothy barged in with that .32.

"And what do you hope to accomplish by killing the Paradigm executives?" Roger demanded. "I should have realized that you were behind this. The first one you murdered was the head of Paradigm Press!"

"They _all_ deserved to die," Schwartzwald boomed. "Every last one of them. They've offended the muses by keeping the great works of the past a secret. Have you ever heard of William Shakespeare? Anton Chekov? Plato? No? It doesn't surprise me. The few copies of their writings that still exist are kept secret. If the works of the writers of the past were read today it might stimulate the dullards in this corrupt city to _think_! And that wouldn't suit them at all! They give their subjects the right to vote and the right to free speech but it doesn't mean anything because the populace is so poorly educated that they don't know how to _think_ for themselves! Imagine my disappointment when I discovered that the domineus of the black megadeus is no different! You're such a pathetic lapdog that you continue to serve them, even after they turned on you!"

"Now wait just a minute!" Roger protested. "I don't work for Paradigm! I make my choices as I please!"

"Then why did you make the choices you have?" demanded an incredulous Schwartzwald. "Your masters turned on you. They turned on the entire city! You could have destroyed them! You could have led a rebellion against them and taken over the city! You could have had access to all of the secrets that Gordon Rosewater hid and Alex Rosewater found! Instead you gave the city back to your greedy masters and went back to doting on your imaginary girlfriend! If you're not a fool you must be stark raving mad!"

"That's funny, coming from you!" Roger snarled. "One minute you're talking about finding the truth and the next minute you're foaming at the mouth while babbling about power! Make up your mind why don't you?"

"Very well," Schwartzwald cackled. "If you insist!" he threw what looked like a blue and brown beach ball at Roger. "Oh don't run away!" he laughed when the negotiator dodged. "It's not a bomb or anything! I promise it's not! Take a look at it. Do you know what that is?"

Roger picked it up. It was a map that had been pasted over a sphere made of plaster and cardboard. He moved it around until he read a word that had been painted over it. _Urania. _Roger's breath caught in his throat.

"It's a globe!" Schwartzwald chuckled. "It's a map of the entire world! And a symbol of Urania, the muse of astronomy! Do you know what that means?"

"I suppose I should be honored!" Roger shouted back. "It means you saved me for last! So how am I going to get it, going to have a piece of the moon fall on me?"

"Foolish lapdog!" the bandaged burn victim chortled. "Think. What_ is_ astronomy anyway? It's the study of the _sky_…"

"The sky?" Roger repeated. "Oh no! Don't tell me…"

Schwartzwald spread his arms theatrically, then bent his left arm to place his wristwatch at his burnt and shriveled lips. "Big Duo! It is now… Showtime!"

* * *

On a desk filled with hourglasses a phone rings. Norman's hand picks up the receiver and a sinister voice says:

_Next: Terror from the Sky_


	11. Terror from the Sky

_The Big O__ and all of its settings and characters are owned by Cartoon Network, Sunrise, and Bandai Visual._

THE BIG O:

ACT 29

THE NINE MUSES OF DEATH!

_Chapter Eleven:_ _Terror from the Sky_

Colonel Dan Dastun and Inspector R. Fredrick O'Reilly were in an office underneath Paradigm Headquarters. "I can't believe that Paradigm has been hoarding these computers all this time!" Dastun growled. "Do you know how much easier police work would be if we could organize and bring up data at the push of a button? I can't believe those bastards have tied our hands like this!"

"The computer network is company property and a vital part of the security of the company…" O'Reilly explained as he typed and clicked on the computer before him.

"Hey!" Dastun barked. "No backsliding! I've come this close to turning you into a cop and not a corporate stooge! Now bring up the records for all the expenditures that Gregory Stoker has made in the last month or so and see if a pattern forms."

"You were correct, Colonel," the android inspector from the home office informed him. "A number of expenses fit the prerecorded confession we heard in the park today. The most noteworthy is the contractors that were hired to complete repairs on Francis Erskine's office."

"Has Stoker been diverting any more funds to those guys?" Dastun asked.

"Yes, a large amount of resources has been diverted to a set of abandoned aircraft hangers," O'Reilly nodded. "Near JFK Mark. Why do you suppose he did that for?"

"He was financing the whole thing," Dastun growled as he got out of his chair and headed to the door. "Until that bandaged freakjob decided he didn't need him anymore. I'm going to mobilize a strike force. Odds are that's the main hideout for his insurgents."

"I'm coming with you," O'Reilly said as he picked up his hat and followed the Colonel out into the hall. "I have much to learn and I may be of use to you."

"You've done your part Freddie," Dastun grunted. "Don't worry about it."

* * *

When they got outside a roaring noise in the sky caused the human and the android to look up. The last time they heard that sound was when the Union was bombarding the city from the sky.

"Wait a minute!" Dastun gasped as his eyes followed an aerial juggernaut. "It can't be! Isn't that…?"

"It's the megadeus known as Big Duo," O'Reilly said. "Apparently the rumors of its destruction were somewhat exaggerated."

"And now we know what all those resources were diverted to the airport for." Dastun grumbled. "Screw it! Let's see if we can get the mastermind to call it off!"

* * *

The red megadeus soared over the city making for the shattered dome that held a series of apartment buildings. On the roofs of two buildings of similar height two men stood facing each other. On one, the trench coated and bandaged form of the domineus of the red megadeus, the fanatic known as Schwartzwald. On the other, clad in a black suit, polo jacket and tie was Roger Smith, the pilot of Big O!

"Here it comes, Paradigm Dog!" Schwartzwald spat. "When Big Duo gets here, your demise is assured!"

"How'd you get Big Duo back anyhow?" Roger asked him.

"It was easy!" Schwartzwald crowed. "I overpowered the guard the Union had watching me, and managed to get to a radio. By tuning it to the right frequency I contacted Big Duo. It recognized its master's voice and came to my rescue after disposing of that foolish cyborg who thought he was a domineus."

So Big Duo hadn't been destroyed by crashing into a giant skylight hanging over the city. That had been a hallucination then. Roger breathed a sigh of relief.

Above them a red bomber plane transformed into a huge robot that was similar to the Big O. Like Big O, Big Duo had a barrel shaped body topped by a relatively small head. Its legs and feet were huge and massive arms were connected to the main body by thinner and fragile looking joints. Unlike Big O, its legs contained thrusters, its arms massive engines topped with the propellers that could become massive four fingered hands. The propellers were spinning in the air above it allowing Big Duo to lower itself slowly to allow Schwartzwald access to an entrance in one of its massive feet.

"Goodbye, Negotiator," Schwartzwald shouted over the roar of Big Duo's engines.

"I'm not going anywhere yet!" Roger shouted back as he crossed his arms and assumed a heroic stance. "Big O!" he shouted into his watch. "Show…time!" Underneath his feet, the condemned building split open as Roger Smith rose into the air. Underneath him was the open hand of Big O, the black megadeus that Roger used to protect the city from menaces like Schwartzwald and Big Duo. The Big O was similar to the Big Duo, but its arms were massive piledrivers protected by shields on each forearm. The black megadeus had emerged from under the condemned building and had utterly reduced it to rubble.

"Hargh!" Schwartzwald grunted in frustration before he disappeared into a hatch hidden in Big Duo's foot. It was a race to see which pilot could bet the control room of his megadeus first. Schwartzwald emerged in the cockpit and sat at the controls as a transparent bubble closed around him. "Prepare to die, Paradigm Dog! It's all you deserve!"

"Not just yet," Roger smiled as he sat the controls of Big O and watched a transparent bubble close around him. "Still got too much to do!"

On identical circular monitors aboard both Big O and Big Duo, a cryptic message was displayed: "CAST IN THE NAME OF GOD YE NOT GUILTY".

"Big O, Showtime! And action!" he declared as the black megadeus brandished a fist at the flying red megadeus and assumed a battle stance. "I want answers, Schwartzwald!" Roger sneered.

"You don't deserve them!" the bandaged fanatic protested. "You'd rather embrace your lies than discover the truth!"

A spike shot out of Big O's hip and propelled itself through the air with the aid of rockets hidden in the 'wings' of the boomerang shaped spike. A massive chain trailed out of the black megadeus to wrap around the Big Duo's leg. Roger knew this wouldn't stop it. It would simply use the particle energy beams in its eyes to sever the chain. But it might distract Schwartzwald long enough to allow…

No. Big Duo was already looking down and activating the laser to sever the chain. No time to fire the eighteen missiles Big O had hidden in his chest. That would involve opening the black megadeus' armor and that would be risky if Schwartzwald was quick. "At least I can try it!" Roger growled in frustration. Roger's thumb hit the end of the right joystick. The pressurized piston inside Big O's right arm retracted and then released itself, propelling a split second gust of wind that had hurricane force.

It worked. Big Duo had been rising into the air to carry Schwartzwald to safety but the impact of the wind blast knocked it off balance. Big Duo's legs swung out from under it causing the red megadeus to careen out of control. Schwartzwald managed to turn Big Duo's fall into an erratic dive as the red megadeus came crashing down onto the black one.

* * *

In the meantime, Dastun was shouting into a radio microphone as O'Reilly drove the police car through the damaged streets of Paradigm. "That's right, I know about the red megadeus, is the black megadeus there?"

"Yes sir," a voice popped through the static, "but what…?"

"Clear the area of civilians and set up your artillery," Dastun ordered. "Fire only if the black megadeus needs help and only then if you get a clear shot. In the meantime send a SWAT team to meet me at the parking lot of the old airport mall near JFK mark. We're going to take down the bastards that rebuilt the red megadeus and maybe rescue a hostage or two. The red megadeus will only be able to do so much if we take out its pit crew!"

"But sir, we need you at Washington Street!" the voice on the radio protested.

"Follow my orders, Mister!" Dastun barked. "If we're lucky we can force the brains behind this to call off that thing!"

"Will do, Colonel," the voice on the radio acknowledged. "The team will be there when you arrive."

"This is an awful risk," O'Reilly said as the car threaded through the ruined streets. "Your men need you at Washington Street. If we don't find any insurgents at the hangers it could cost you your job."

"With all the Paradigm executives murdered on my watch, my career's finished anyway," Dastun sighed. "I might as well apprehend the people responsible so I can drag them down with me."

* * *

Wood, metal, plaster and glass became a deadly spray of shrapnel as two metal giants collided with the doomed apartment buildings. Thankfully, most of the structures were condemned thanks to the damage from the Union's aerial bombardment two months ago. The two megadeuses rolled on the ground like two wrestling humans, knocking down the walls of buildings in their wake. When they came to a stop, Big Duo was on top, but Roger had Big O's piledriver arm punch the red megadeus. Big Duo stumbled backwards off of Big O, giving Roger the opportunity to have the black megadeus rise to its feet.

Unfortunately, that also gave Big Duo the opportunity to take the sky. "Blast it!" Roger growled. The maneuverability the red megadeus enjoyed when it was airborne was tough to beat. The Big Duo once again transformed itself into a fighter bomber and was making a strafing run on Roger. Roger raised Big O's arms to use the shield on its forearms to protect itself. When Big Duo passed by, Roger would use Big O's missiles to shoot it down…

An earsplitting crack of thunder boomed as Big O was knocked backwards. Idiot. Roger hadn't been looking, he had been hiding behind Big O's arm shields, and now Big Duo was on top again.

"The memories are here, _Negotiator_!" Schwartzwald spat out that last word as if it were profanity. "The memories you are too foolish to seek are right in front of you, but you will not look at them!" One of Big Duo's propeller-like hands became a spinning drill and attempted to strike at Big O's head, but the arm shields managed to protect it. "You're too frightened to see the truth!"

"But I'm not too frightened to listen to it!" Roger retorted as he moved one of Big O's arms to open the Gatling style energy blaster again.

Schwartzwald moved the Big Duo off the Big O before the red megadeus could get hit by a shower of particle energy pulses. "You pathetic lapdog, you only listen to your masters!"

"That's what you think, Schwartzwald!" Roger shouted as Big O staggered to its feet. Big O raked Big Duo's hull with purplish laser beams that shot out of the black megadeus' eyes as the red megadeus soared into the sky. "I haven't come to avenge the deaths of the Paradigm Executives! I want information! Blast it, I want the truth!"

"You can't handle the truth!" Schwartzwald snarled as he piloted the Big Duo to come around for another pass. The joysticks at the end of the arms in Roger's cockpit rotated to reveal triggers in handguards. Big O's shoulders opened to expose giant gun barrels. The rotating barrels fired energy volleys at high-speed, while generating a ring of energy that exploded on impact with Big Duo's hull. The red megadeus was able to fire a missile at Big O before the multiple impacts knocked it out of the sky.

"Augh!" Roger cried as Big O was once again flung on its back. A glance at the damage monitor revealed damage to Big O's shoulders. Apparently, some of the damage got through before the armor closed. In addition, the impact had knocked Roger back in his chair causing the negotiator's arms to open. This made Big O's arms open and Big Duo was able to pin the black megadeus' arms with its feet.

"Ha-ha-ha!" Schwartzwald laughed. "It looks like Paradigm's lapdog isn't as tough has he thinks he is!"

Looking through the transparent crystalline red shield that protected the control room, Roger could see the impassive face of Big Duo. It was the red megadeus' original face. Under a gold and crimson crown, one half of its face was black, the other was white. The robot had two faces, one white and one black. Big Duo. Duality. That was it! The domineus wasn't having any luck in this fight. Time to see the negotiator could do.

"Chromebuster!" Roger hit the keys to the right of him and Big O's crown glowed with an eerie purplish pinkish light. Big Duo stepped off the black megadeus before a wide beam erupted from Big O's head to shoot into the sky.

* * *

At an abandoned parking lot, Dastun assembled his men. "Okay, intel's nonexistent but if we want to call off the red megadeus we've got to go now!" Dastun announced. "This is a seat-of-your-pants slapdash operation so if anybody wants out, I'm not going to judge! If you're sticking around, we're hitting hangar five! I don't know if there armed but they may have Gregory Stoker hostage. We only got one chance at this, so hit them hard so they won't have time to react. Move out!"

The men in body armor wielding automatic weapons nodded and raced to their vehicles. In seconds, the area around hangar five was swarming with police.

* * *

Big O and Big Duo had grasped each other's hands and were each attempting to push the other back. "This pointless!" Roger shouted. "I want answers! I want to talk to Michael Seebach!"

"Michael Seebach is no more!" Schwartzwald insisted. "That man is dead! He no longer exists!"

"Why did you kill him off too?" Roger snarled. "Is that your game? Killing off anyone who gets too close to the Truth?"

"What are you talking about?" Schwartzwald protested.

"Everyone you've killed has been people who know too much!" Roger growled as she fought give Big O leverage in the fight. "Are you trying to hide the Truth? Is that it? Is that your game, Schwartzwald? You're trying to keep us in ignorance!"

"No!" Schwartzwald insisted. "I'm trying to expose the Truth! Trying to tear down the lies that make up this corrupt city!"

"You're doing nothing of the kind!" Roger challenged. "With Alex Rosewater dead, his subordinates had access to the memories he had uncovered, and you've just killed them all! You attacked Angel, because she knew too much! You tried to kill Dorothy, because of the secrets buried in her head! And you've tried to kill me because I'm closer to the Truth than I realize!"

"No!" Schwartzwald roared. "I killed them because you are my enemies!"

"That's baloney!" Roger retorted. "I know because the first one you killed was the one who could have told us what really happened forty years ago. The one who could have told us what's happening now! The first one you had to destroy was Michael Seebach! He uncovered the Truth and you couldn't have that! He had to be destroyed before the city found out what he knew!"

"That's not true!" Schwartzwald howled. "That's not true! I destroyed Michael Seebach because…! No! It can't be true it just can't be! Augh!"

Big O pushed Big Duo backwards and into a building. "It _is_ true isn't it?" Roger snarled as he worked the arms of Big O. "An accident didn't destroy your face, you did that to yourself! You had to destroy any trace of Michael Seebach, didn't you?" Big O pounded into Big Duo with a bestial fury as Roger let out his frustration on the red megadeus and its fanatical pilot. "You had to destroy any trace of the man who found out the Truth didn't you?" he shouted as he worked the arms furiously. "Michael Seebach was a hero! A man who couldn't be bought and couldn't be scared off! A man who would stop at nothing to reveal the Truth and dispel the ignorance afflicting this cursed city! But you killed him! You ignorant animal! You killed him! A man who could tell me what my memories mean! A man who knew why we can pilot megadeuses! A man who knew what was real and what was fake! You killed him, Schwartzwald! You thought you could take his place, but you aren't fit to shine his shoes!"

"No! No!" Schwartzwald let go of Big Duo's joysticks to instinctively put his arms up to protect himself as Big O continued its onslaught. "I didn't kill him! I didn't!" he pleaded. "I want to reveal the Truth! I want the Truth! I do! I do!"

"Baloney!" Roger spat. "You're afraid of the Truth! You're afraid of it, just like the ignorant tomatoes you claim you despise! You aren't any different than they are, you just lie louder! If you were half the man Michael Seebach was you'd tell me what's happening and I could decide whether or not to accept it or go mad like you did! But you're not! Michael Seebach would be _ashamed_ if he could see you now!"

"No!" Schwartzwald cried. "I believe in one truth! I do! I do!"

"Oh knock it off, Schwartzwald!" Roger sneered as Big O punched Big Duo, knocking the red megadeus into a building. "Save it for someone who cares!"

Roger flicked a switch and hit a group of typewriter keys to the right of his chair. Big O's abdomen opened to reveal two rows of missiles. "If you aren't part of the solution, stop being part of the problem! Now Get Out Of My Face!" he shouted as eighteen missiles shot out of Big O's belly to fly into the huge intake/missile tubes on Big Duo's chest.

Schwartzwald screamed as explosions rocked the Big Duo. Big O's arm shields came up to protect the black megadeus from the deadly fragments of the red megadeus' armor that burst out of Big Duo's chest.

* * *

On a desk filled with hourglasses a phone rings. Norman's hand picks up the receiver and a sinister voice says:

_Next: Apollo Triumphant_


	12. Apollo Triumphant

_The Big O__ and all of its settings and characters are owned by Cartoon Network, Sunrise, and Bandai Visual._

THE BIG O:

ACT 29

THE NINE MUSES OF DEATH!

_Chapter Twelve:_ _Apollo Triumphant_

"All right let's get you out of there," Roger grunted in triumph. He pulled on the joysticks and Big O reached out to pull the armor off Big Duo's chest. The problem with building a megadeus that could fly was that it weight allowances had to be made somewhere, in this case the armor. "Ha!" Roger cried as Big Duo's breastplate came free. "Got you!"

Schwartzwald screamed as a giant gunmetal black hand reached down for him.

"Hold still you little…" Roger muttered as a signal chimed in the cockpit. "Yes, Norman, what is it?"

"Master Roger," the pinkish, monochromatic image of the elderly butler apologized from a circular screen. "Sorry to interrupt but I overheard an interesting conversation on the police radio a few minutes ago."

"Oh really?" Roger said distractedly, as he worked the joysticks to have the Big O pull a screaming Schwartzwald out of Big Duo's cockpit.

"Yes sir," Norman nodded. "It seems that rather than supervise the military police's forces at the megadeus battle, Colonel Dastun had more pressing business to attend to."

"He did?" Roger asked as he eyed the squirming Schwartzwald in Big O's massive fist. "What could be more important than leading his men?"

"I overheard something about a Special Weapons and Tactics team summoned to the old airport mall outside JFK Mark," Norman explained. "Apparently his forces are converging on some abandoned hangers, specifically a hanger five."

"Hm, I guess I'll go take a look then," Roger mused. "He probably doesn't need my help but it couldn't hurt." He glanced back at the struggling Schwartzwald. "It will also give me a chance to take out the trash."

* * *

Hanger five at the abandoned airport at the edge of town was a hotbed of activity. Automatic weapons fire was heard as military police in riot armor battled it out with Schwartzwald's followers. Some, like a couple of former members of the Union, knew how to fight and use a gun. Most of them were people whose lives were ruined by the Paradigm Corporation and had no training in firearms whatsoever. Even so, they were a determined group of fanatics who knew the terrain better than Dastun's men did.

Complicating things was the hostage situation. They had Gregory Stoker. He was still alive and they were willing to kill him. It was a miracle that they hadn't killed him the moment Dastun's men attacked the area. The only reason he was still alive was because the insurgents wanted to voice their demands.

It was hopeless. The insurgents knew that none of their demands would be met. They simply wanted to turn themselves into martyrs before dying in a hail of gunfire. If they couldn't bring down the Paradigm Corporation while they were alive, they would do their best to be a thorn in their side when they were dead. Dastun had to keep them talking as long as possible, but he wasn't a professional negotiator. He was a soldier. He was an officer.

"Try to keep calm!" Dastun shouted through a megaphone. "Don't do anything you might regret! The press is on its way!" he lied. Like he'd ever bring the press along to chronicle the end of his career. If anything happened to Gregory Stoker he was finished. "We still need proof that Stoker is still alive!" He lowered the megaphone to speak to O'Reilly. "They must have a phone line in there. Do you have their phone number yet? I don't think I'm going to get anywhere shouting across the tarmac like this."

"Yes I do," the android inspector informed him, "but the line is busy. They must be calling for instructions or help."

"Cut the phone lines and then tap into their line," Dastun instructed. "I don't want them talking to anybody but us. Wait a minute, why's the ground shaking?"

"It would appear that help is on the way," R Fredrick O'Reilly pointed to the black megadeus stomping towards them in the distance.

Dan Dastun had to bite his lip to avoid saying Roger's name. It just wouldn't do to let O'Reilly's superiors know that he knew who was piloting the black megadeus.

The Big O stomped its way until it came in between Dastun's men and hanger five. Then it slowly bent over and with one hand tore the roof off the airplane hangar. With its other hand, the black megadeus dangled the hysterical Schwartzwald over the insurgents who had made the hangar building their personal Alamo.

"Aaah!" Schwartzwald screamed as Big O held him by the back of his tattered raincoat. "No! Don't drop me! Please!"

"What is it doing?" O'Reilly asked.

"It's creating a distraction," Dastun growled. "We couldn't ask for a better one. Okay, all units move in! Move in!" Dastun dashed across the tarmac to discover that he was the only one moving forward. He turned back to his men. "What's the matter with you guys? I said move in! Are you going to embarrass yourself in front of the black megadeus?"

His men made confused sounds as they surged forward looking more like a bunch of disorganized children in riot armor then the best trained soldiers at Dastun's disposal. But surge forward they did, even though fear and common sense told them not to get close to a building that can walk.

* * *

Soon Schwartzwald's rebels were in handcuffs as they lay on the ground. Dastun himself was untying a drugged and dazed Gregory Stoker, whose coffee colored face was marred by a few bruises. The black megadeus bent over, its bulk obscuring the light and released a hoarse Schwartzwald almost ten feet in the air. The bandaged psychopath grunted in pain as he rolled on the ground and stared helplessly at the armed and armored military police surrounding him.

As the black megadeus turned and walked away, Dastun pointed at Schwartzwald and barked: "Slap the cuffs on him! Get him down on the ground with the others!" Then he turned back to Gregory Stoker. "Mister Stoker sir?" Dastun muttered apologetically. "I'm afraid that I'm going to have to arrest you on suspicion on eight counts of conspiracy to murder."

"What?" Stoker's eyes bulged in indignation. "On what evidence do you make that charge?" he asked in a shaky voice.

"He's right, Colonel," O'Reilly apologized. "The evidence we have against him was gained illegally. It won't hold up in court."

"Oh yes it will," Dastun nodded. "The evidence isn't in Stoker's personal records. The evidence is your memory of _reading_ his personal records. Are you willing to provide your memories as evidence in a court of law?"

"It would be my pleasure," O'Reilly nodded.

"Inspector O'Reilly!" Stoker protested. "Your primary mission is to bring down the culprits and protect the Paradigm Corporation!"

"I _am_ protecting the Paradigm Corporation," O'Reilly insisted. "Anyone who would conspire with the company's enemies to assassinate the other members of the board is too great a threat to allow to go free. I'm sorry, Mister Stoker. To fulfill my mission I have to see that you are persecuted to the fullest extent of the law."

"Colonel Dastun," Stoker growled. "I pulled you out of prison!"

"And I'm throwing you _into_ prison," Dastun retorted. "Too bad, Stoker. If you want me to dance to your tune you can't mastermind a no-win scenario like this. Too many important people got killed on my watch. Odds are my career is over, and I have you to thank for it. I might as well drag you down with me. Johnson, slap the cuffs on him and put him on the ground with the others!"

"Y-yes… sir," his nervous subordinate nodded.

In the distance the black megadeus stomped its foot and sank into the ground as if standing atop a giant descending platform. "Time to call Roger again," Dastun muttered under his breath. "Let's hope he can get me out of _this_ one!"

* * *

Days later, Roger Smith strode out of Paradigm Headquarters and into Dastun's car. Dastun was waiting for him in the back seat. "How did it go?" he asked as he nodded for his driver to start the vehicle.

"I think it went pretty well," Roger smiled hopefully. "I think I was able to sell them on the 'no one must be allowed to murder a Paradigm executive and get away with it' angle. As the new members of the board, the last thing they want is for people to eliminate _them_ and get off Scott free."

"Yeah, but no one is allowed to _arrest_ a Paradigm executive either," Dastun growled. "By exercising that kind of authority I've become a threat. If they don't decide to remove me they'll probably try to eliminate me."

"I don't know about that," Roger grinned. "Most of Alex Rosewater's followers are gone. The ones who are left haven't crossed that line yet. They're frightened too after all this. I think they might appreciate a little law and order for now. At least until they strengthen their power base."

"In other words they're willing to postpone giving me the axe until they're strong enough to get by without me," Dastun groaned. "Well that's something I guess. But I was just too slow…"

"That's right," Roger chuckled. "You were slow enough to get rid of everyone who might get in the current boardmembers' way but you caught the murderers in the end so now they're safe. It couldn't have gone better if they planned it!"

"Do you think that Stoker will live to see his trial?" Dastun asked. "To allow him to go up before a jury would expose Paradigm's dirty secrets. It could incriminate a lot of the guys in charge _now_."

"I don't know, Dan," Roger shrugged. "I don't really care about _him_. If they _do_ decide to off him let's hope they make it look like an accident. That way you can close the book on it like they'll want you to."

"I was once in the big house," Dastun grumbled. "A fake suicide in prison isn't something to laugh at."

"It would give you the opportunity to look the other way and let the new board know they can trust you," Roger told him. "I don't like it either, but I don't care about a man who conspired with both Alex Rosewater _and_ Schwartzwald to murder a bunch of people. He made his bed didn't he? He can take his chances and face the consequences as far as I'm concerned. Icare about a man who defied orders and put his life and career on the line to do the right thing. He's someone worth protecting, don't you agree?"

"Knock off the mushy stuff; you're making my eyes water," Dastun smiled grimly. "I get it. I'll keep my head down and my mouth shut if I can and if no innocents are in danger. I won't have to like it; I'll just have to do it if I want to keep my job. Or my head," he added as he looked out the window.

"That's the spirit," Roger smiled. "Who knows? Maybe Stoker will live to see his trial and you won't be put in that position."

"Yeah, and I believe in the tooth fairy too," Dastun grumbled. "I dunno. Maybe if he pleads guilty it can be settled quietly and the board won't have to silence him. Stranger things have happened I guess."

"Well this is my stop," Roger smiled as the car pulled up outside of Rosterman's restaurant. "See you around, Dan, and keep your head down," he said as he stepped out of the car.

"I'll do that," Dastun grunted. "Hey Roger, if this military police thing doesn't work out how do I get into the negotiation racket? I hear that it pays really well."

"You can make a good living if you know what you're doing," Roger winked. "Take care, Dan, thanks for the ride."

* * *

When Roger entered the restaurant, the maître d' led him to a table where a slender teenage girl in a red dress was waiting for him.

"I'm surprised to see you in _that_ dress," Roger teased her. He would have never guessed that Dorothy would wear the dress that she wore the night her father was murdered in a million years. Perhaps this was her way of coping.

"You're late, Roger Smith," Dorothy Wayneright gently scolded.

"You know how these negotiations go, Dorothy," Roger smiled. "You never know how long they're going to last."

"What did Dastun pay you for your negotiating fee?" the girlish android asked him. "He's too proud to take charity."

"He's paid for this wonderful meal we're about to have," Roger replied. "After dragging us away last time we were here he owes us."

"You have to admit that the mood was broken," Dorothy teased dryly.

"Yeah but it's the principle of the thing," Roger insisted. "We paid for that dinner we never got to eat it."

"I did some checking on the nine muses," Dorothy said in an attempt to make small talk. "In your own house I found a book on classical mythology. It seems that the goddesses known as the nine muses were led by a masculine god called 'Apollo'."

"What was he? The god of vengeance?" Roger quipped. "Was his face disfigured?"

"No the deity of vengeance was a _woman_," Dorothy said firmly.

"Burr," Roger shivered in mock fear. "I'll watch my step then!"

"And Apollo was known for his unusual physical beauty," Dorothy informed him. "He was the god of fine arts, music, poetry, and eloquence."

"Eloquence?" Roger repeated. "Sounds like he would have made a fine negotiator!" he winked. "Did you mention something in there about physical beauty?"

"I did," the girl nodded subtly, "but right now I'm more interested in finding out if he can dance."

"What?" Roger made a show of surprise. "We're going dancing later?"

"That _was_ on the itinerary when we were interrupted," Dorothy insisted.

"Can _you_ dance?" Roger challenged.

"With mechanical precision," she deadpanned.

"Sounds like this Apollo guy has a lot of talents," Roger bragged.

"He also had many paramours," Dorothy added sternly. "Does he remind you anyone you know?"

"Nope, I can't think of anybody," Roger shook his head as he pulled at his collar. He chuckled at Dorothy's overly serious face. "Relax, Dorothy," he teased. "I assure you that aside of you there are no women in my life right now."

"Mister Smith?" A waiter interrupted them. "A lady wishes to speak to you sir."

"Oh really?" Roger smiled with a hint of enthusiasm. "Could be a job offer. Dorothy?" he glanced over at the mechanical girl for a sign of consent.

Dorothy's eyes were narrow slits, and her lips were pursed in obvious disapproval. Normally she kept a perfect poker face whether her heart was being broken or her dress was on fire. She _really_ must not have wanted him to go.

"Ah," Roger smiled knowingly. He had scored an impressive victory. After living under his roof for an entire year Dorothy finally trusted him enough to let him know what she was thinking if it was really, really important to her. "Give the lady my apologies, but tell her I'm indisposed will you? She can contact me at my home." He handed the waiter a business card.

"Very good sir," the waiter nodded. "I'll give you more time to peruse the menu while I inform the lady with your permission." He nodded again before leaving.

* * *

At the front of the restaurant the waiter apologized to a beautiful young woman in wearing pink. "I'm sorry, Miss. It seems the gentleman is not available at this time. He did give me his card," he said as he handed the lady Roger's business card, "and he invites you to visit him at this address. Is there anything else I can do for you?"

"No thank you," Angel nodded sadly as she looked over his shoulder. Roger and Dorothy seemed quite happy together, as happy as a black clad misanthrope and an unfeeling android could be. It was sad, but Dorothy was actually much better for Roger than Angel could ever be. Angel couldn't resist the temptation to see Roger again, but for Roger's sake she would have to. Roger was too good a guy to learn the truth and become the next Schwartzwald.

It was insane. Dorothy Wayneright was an android. Artificial. Fake. She was a lie. Yet the lie would be so much better for Roger in the long run than Angel who was flesh and blood. Natural. The truth. Only in Paradigm City could a lie be better than the truth. Better for everyone. Angel turned and walked outside to the street and tried to wish Dorothy and Roger the best. In the meantime, Dorothy was doing what Angel had told her to do. Trying her best to make Roger forget about the woman who called herself… Angel.

_We have come to terms._

* * *

Dorothy and Roger sit on a large hourglass the size of a barstool. Behind them is an orange background. The sound of a piano and the duet of a man and woman singing can be heard.

_Sometimes I feel so all alone_

_Finding myself callin' your name_

_When we're apart, so far away_

_Hopin' it's me that you're thinkin' of_

_Could it be true, could it be real?_

_My heart says that you're the one._

_There's no one else, you're the only one for me._

_Yes, this time my love's the real thing._

_Never felt that love is so right._

_The world seemed such an empty place._

_We need someone we could give our all._

_Baby, it's you, we'll be together now and forever._

_Could it be true, could it be real?_

_My heart says that you're the one._

_There's no one else, you're the only one for me._

_Yes, this time my love's the real thing._

_Never felt that love is so right._

_The world seemed such an empty place._

_We need someone we could give our all._

_Baby, it's you, we'll be together now and forever._

_Never felt that love is so right._

_The world seemed such an empty place._

_We need someone we could give our all._

_Baby, it's you, we'll be together now and forever._

* * *

On a desk filled with hourglasses a phone rings. Norman's hand picks up the receiver and a sinister voice says:

_Next: Priceless_


End file.
